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THE ART 



OF 

EITEMPOEE SPEAKIN&. 

HI I^T S 

FOB 

THE PULPIT, THE SENATE, and THE BAR. 
BY M.^^BAUTAIN, 

TIOAR-GENERAL AND PROFESSOR AT THE SORBONNE, ETC. KTa 

^VTTH .AJ3r)ITION"S 

BY A 

MEMBER or THE NEW YORK BAR, 

SIXTH EDITION, 



NEW YORK: 
CHARLES SCRIBNER, 124 GRAND STREET. 

MDOOOLXIII 



^^ti 






ExTzaeD Hccording tf Act of Confrress. in the year 18S9, by 

CHARLES SCRIBNER, 

te tb* Claik'k Office of the District Court of the United Stiites, for tto Sruthem Dlrtri.'?! 
N^ew York. 



^-riram Smitfi 
March lo, 1934 



W. H. TiMsoM, Stereotjrpsr. J. J. Rkbo, Prim**. 









P E E F A C E 



The following "Work, by the eloquent M. 
Batjtain, lias no counterpart or rival in the 
English language, so prolific of treatises upon 
Rhetoric, and the separate portions of the arts 
of composition and delivery. All those parts 
of oratory, however necessary to public 
speaking, or conducive to success in its per- 
formance, yet leave comparatively aside the 
precise business of off-hand extemporising. If 
we mistake not, the subject will be found to 
be handled with masterly ability by the au- 
thor of this volume, who, keeping his end ever 
in view, and exemplifying in the treatment of 
his matter that darU — so distinctively French^ 
and which Quintilian says is the first quality 



VI PEEFACE. 

of style — subordinates everything to the one 
grand purpose of extemporisation. 

The treatise not only supplies a desideratum 
in the literature of the language, but it minis- 
ters to a need peculiarly existing under our 
representative system of popular government. 
It is true, and felt to be so, — ^that remark of 
an acute observer of American institutions 
and manners, that " In no country v^hatever 
is a genius for vnriting or speaking a more use- 
ful or commanding endowment than in this." 
To render the v^ork more aptly suited to the 
precise requirements among ourselves, three 
chapters are added by the American Editor, 
which it is hoped will serve to smooth the 
way for the unpractised, or unassisted stu- 
dent of delivery. Cicero says in his treatise 
De Orators^ " There is requisite to the orator 
the acuteness of the logician, the subtilty of 
the philosopher, the skilful harmony, almost, 
of the poet, the memory of a juriconsult, 
the tragedian's voice, and the gesture of 
the most finished actors." But he speaks of 
the highest, for he adds immediately that 



PREFACE. Vii 

" nothing is more rare among men than a per- 
fect orator." The gradations, as in all arts, 
are infinite, but a certain degree, is within the 
reach of most men, and many in their efforts 
to advance, will become indebted, consciously 
or unconsciously, to this admirable little work 
of M. Bautain, 



CONTENTS. 



PART I. 

CHAPTER I. 

PAQB 

Exposition of the Subject. — .Definition of an extem- 
poraneous Speech . . . . .1 

CHAP. n. 
The Qualifications necessary for Public Speaking . 10 

CHAP. III. 

Mental aptitudes for Public Speaking, capable of being 
acquired, or formed by study . . .42 

CHAP. IV. 
Physical Qualities of the Orator, natural and acquired 84 



CONTENTS. 



PART II. 

CHAP. V. 

PAGB 

Division of the Subject . - , . 108 

CHAP. VI. 
Preparation of the Plan , , , .113 

CHAP. vn. 

Political and Forensic Speaking > > .124 

CHAP. VIII. 
Speaking from the Christian Pulpit, and Teaching, . 188 

CHAP. IX. 

Determination of the Subject and Conception of the 
Idea of the Discourse .... 146 

CHAP. X. 
Conception of the Subject. — ^Direct Method . ,155 

CHAP. XI. 

Conception of the Subject. — Indirect Method . .162 

CHAP. XII. 
The Formation and the Arrangement of Ideas . 176 



CONTENTS. XI 

CHAP. xin. 

PAGl 

Arrangement of the Plan • . ^ 188 

CHAP. XIV. 

Character of the Plan . . . . .199 

CHAP. XV. 

fi\f.al Preparation before Spes'Mng^ . M)*- 

CHAP. XVI. 

Pinal intellectual Preparation . > v . 208 

CHAP. xvn. 

b'inai Moral Preparation .... 218 

CHAP. xvm. 

Bodily Preparation . . • c . 229 

CHAP. XIX 

The Discourse . . . . . .238 

CHAP. XX. 
The Beginning, or Exordium . . • , 240 

CHAP. XXI. 
Entrance into the Subject .... 247 



XU OONTENTB. 






«f 






CHAP. XX 11. 

The Development 


• 


PAQB 

. 254 


CHAP. XXIII. 






The Crisis of tlie Discourse 




. 263 



CHAP. XXIV. 
The Close of the Discourse, or Peroration . . 280 

CHAP. XXV. 
After the Discourse ..... 287 



ADDITIONAL CHAPTERS. 

CHAP. xxvr. 

The Logic of the Orator ... 298 

CHAP. XXVIL 
The Voice in Public Speaking ... 829 

CHAP. xxvm. 

Rules of Order and Debate . . . .886 



THE ART 



OP 



EXTEMPOEE SPEAKIia, 



PART I 



CHAPTER I. 

EXPOSITION OF THE SUBJECT. — DEFINITION OB 
AN EXTEMPORANEOUS SPEECH. 

Let us in tlie first place exactly determine the 
subject to which we are to devote our atten- 
tion, in order that nothing may be expected 
beyond that which it is our wish and our power 
to commit to these pages. 

We have no intention of composing a trea- 
tise on eloquence. The world has had enough 
on this subject since the time of Aristotle, 
Cicero, Quintilian, Fenelon, and many others. 
B 



2 STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT. 

Treatises on rhetoric abound, and it appears 
scarcely necessary to produce a new one. 

It is not proposed to treat of the art of 
writing, nor, consequently, of reciting or pro- 
perly delivering a discourse ela,borated at lei- 
sure, and learnt by heart. 

A man may certainly become a great orator 
by writing speeches and reciting them well. 
Witness Bossuet, Bourdaloue, Massillon, and 
many others. It is possible in this manner to 
instruct, to touch the feelings, and to persuade 
the hearer ; which is the object of the art of 
oratory. 

Our subject is confined within narrower Kmits, 
viz. to the art of speaking well and suitably in a 
given situation, whether in the Christian pulpit 
or in the professorial chair, at the bar or in deli- 
berative assemblies. We shall therefore confine 
our attention solely to a discourse, neither 
written nor learnt by heart, but improvised; 
necessarily composed by the orator on the very- 
moment of delivery, without any preparatioD 
or previous combination of phrases. Let us 
then determine, in the first place, what is an 
improvised (or extempore) speech, and the 
manner in which a speech is extemporised. 



STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT. 3 

Extemporisation consists of speaking on the first 
fmpuise; that is to say, without a i3reliminary 
arrangement of phrases. It is the instanta- 
neous manifestation, the expression, of an actual 
thought, or the sudden .explosion of a feelmg 
or mental movement. 

It is very evident that extemporisation can act 
only on the form of words, the form of a dis- 
course ; for, in order to speak, it is necessary to 
have something to say, and that something must 
already be existing in the mind, or still more 
deeply in the intimate feeling of the orator. 
Nevertheless, the thought or feeling may be in 
a concealed state, and the possessor may not 
have clearly appreciated or distinctly perceived 
it at the moment of opening his lips under the 
impression of some circumstance or some un- 
foreseen cause of excitement. 

Ideas and conditions of the mind cannot be 
extemporised ; and the more perfectly they are 
possessed or felt the greater is the probability 
of their lively explosion or of their being deve- 
loped with force and clearness. 

We will not speak of those exceptional 
cases where a passion, involuntarily excited oi 
aroused, bursts forth of a sudden in some sub- 
b2 



4 STATEMENT OF TKE SIJBJECT. 

lime words, or with an eloquent harangue. 
" Facit indignatio versum," says Juvenal. 

Every feeling unexpectedly aroused in an ex- 
cited mind may, like a volcano, scatter around 
burning lava, or like a cloud, charged with 
storms and bursting suddenly from electric 
commotion, produce thunder and lightning, a 
terrible and devastating hail or a salutary and 
fertilising shower. No advice can be given for 
such a situation, for nature alone furnishes the 
means, in proportion to individual constitu- 
tion and development. There lies the source 
of all poetry, of all eloquence, and of all artistic 
power. Improvisation such as this recogTiises 
no rules, and rejects teaching. The coarsest, 
the most ignorant man may thus occasionally 
be eloquent, if he feel vividly and express him- 
self energetically, in words and gesture. 

We will devote our attention only to pre- 
pared extempore speaking, that is to say, to those 
addresses which have to be delivered in public 
before a specified auditory, on a particular day, 
on a given subject, and with the view of 
achieving a certain result. 

It is true that in such cases the discourse, if 
written beforehand, can be recited or read. 



STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT. 5 

There are some persons who are masters of reci- 
tation or of reading, and can thus produce a 
great effect. In this manner, doubtless, both 
thoughts and words can be better weighed, and 
the speaker can deliver what he has to say with 
greater precision. But there is this drawback, 
that the discourse is colder, less apposite, and 
approximates too nearly to dissertation. Kay, 
should any unforeseen circumstance occur, 
such as an objection, a rejoinder, or a discussion 
of any kiad, the speaker not expecting, may 
find himself stopped short or at fault, to the 
great detriment of his cause or his subject. 
Moreover, a preacher, a professor, or a senator, 
who is liable to be called upon to speak at any 
moment, has not always the time to compose a 
discourse, still less to learn it by rote. In 
speaking from his fulness, therefore, as the 
sayiQg is, he can speak oftener, and produce a 
greater effect, if he speak well. 

His speaking will also be more lively and 
brilliant, — more real, and more apposite. Ori- 
ginating with the occasion, and at the very 
moment, it will bear more closely on the sub- 
ject, and strike with greater force and pre- 
cision. His words will be warmer from thoir 
b8 



6 STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT. 

freshness, and they will in this manner com- 
municate increased fervour to the audience. 
They will have all the energy of an instan- 
taneous effort, and of a sudden burst. 

The vitality of thought is singularly stimu- 
lated by this necessity of instantaneous pro- 
duction, by this actual necessity of self-expres- 
sion, and of communication to other minds. 
It is a kind of child-bearing in public, of which 
the speaker feels all the effort and all the 
pain, and in this he is assisted and supported 
by the sympathy of his heai-ers, who witness 
with lively interest this labour of mental life, 
::iid who receive with pleasure this bantlmg of 
t>i0ught; that is to say, an idea well conceived 
tv.'A brought to light; well formed, ^viih. a fine 
expression, or with a body of graceful and well- 
constructed phraseology. 

But it is not our object to compare these 
two methods of public speakmg, nor to place 
in the balance their advantages and defects. 
It is possible to excel in both ways, and 
every one must endeavour to discover the 
manner which best suits him, and the method 
by which, according to his nature, his qualities, 
and his position, his words can achieve tho 



STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT. i 

greater amount of good, instruct more clearly 
and more fully, and touch the heart more effec- 
tually. What suits one does not suit another. 
God distributes his gifts as seems best to 
Him ; and every tree bears fruit according to 
its kind. It is important for man to discover 
the gift he has received, to make use of it 
with usury, and to discharge faithfully his high 
vocation. "Fiunt oratores, nascuntur poetse," 
has said Quintilian; meaning, doubtless, that 
poetic genius is a gift from heaven, and that 
oratorical talent can be acquired. This is only 
half true ; for if teaching and labour can con- 
tribute to the formation of an orator, neither 
one nor the other will give him the germ and the 
power of eloquence. They can excite and 
nourish, but they can never ignite the sacred 
fire. 

But amongst those who have received this 
divine gift of words some have only been 
enabled to exercise it with the pen, and 
occasionally even the most eloquent wi'iters 
are incapable of delivermg in public that 
which they konw so well to compose in pri- 
vate. They are troubled and embarrassed be- 
fore even the least imposing audience. J.J 
b4 



8 STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT. 

Rousseau could never speak in public ; and 
the Abbe de Lamennais, whose style is so 
vigorous, never ventured to enter the pulpit, 
and was unable to address even a meeting of 
children. 

Others, on the contrary, possess the faculty 
of easily expressing in public their feelings and 
their thoughts. The presence of hearers stimu- 
lates them, and augments the elasticity of their 
mind and the vivacity of their tongue. It is 
these only that we shall address, for we have 
spoken in this manner through life and have 
never been able to do otherwise. Many a 
time, however, have we made the attempt, by 
preparing an exordium, a tirade, or a perora- 
tion, with the intention of speaking better or 
in a more striking manner. But we have 
never succeeded in reciting what we had pre- 
pared, and in the manner in which we had 
constructed it. Our laboured compositions have 
always missed their object, and have made us 
embarrassed or obscure. Thus, it appears, we 
were made, and we have beeii forced to follow 
our nature. In such matters the lesson to be 
iearnt is in turning to account the demands of 
nature which must be satisfied. 



STATEMENT OF THE SUBJECT. \f 

As extemporismg a speech regards the form 
only, as has been before stated, it follows 
that, before attemptmg to speak m this manner, 
two things are necessary. 1. The foundation 
of the discourse, or the thought and succession 
of thoughts to be expressed. 2. The means of 
expression, or the language in which they are 
to be spoken, so as to avoid the necessity of 
seeking the words at the same moment as the 
ideas, and the risk of stopping short of or being 
embarrassed in the composition of the phrase- 
ology. In other termsj the speaker must know 
what he wishes to say and how to say it. 

Improvisation, therefore, supposes the special 
qualifications on which we are about to speak, 
not precisely with the view of teachuig the 
means of acquiring them, as for the most part 
they are gifts of nature ; but to induce those to 
cultivate and develope tnem who have the good 
fortune to possess them ; and, above aU, to 
point out the signs by which any one may dis- 
cover whether he be capable of speaking in 
public, and how, in so domg, to succeed. 



10 NATURAL QXrALnTES NECE8SABT. 



CHAP. n. 

THE QT7AXIFICATI0NS NECESSARY FOR PUELIC 
SPEAKING. 

At the root of every real talent, whatever it 
may be, there lies a natural aptness, conferring 
on the person endowed with it a particular 
power ; and this aptness depends ahke on the 
intellectual temperament and the physical or- 
ganisation ; for man being essentially composed 
of mind and body, all that he does in reason, or 
in his quality as a reasonable being, comes 
from these two portions of his being and from 
their mutual relations. The mind commands, 
it is true, and the body must obey like an 
instrument ; but the instrument has also its 
influence, especially over the talent of the 
artist, by the manner in which it responds Ui 
his wishes, to his feelings, to the motions which 
he communicates to it, to the vigour which 
he seeks to display. Thus speaking is an 
ai*t and the finest of arts; it should express 



NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 11 

the mind by form, ideas by words, feelings by 
sounds, all that the mind feels, thinks, and 
wishes by signs and external action. To ob- 
tain skill in this art, therefore, there are some 
qualifications which regard the mind, and others 
which depend on the body. 

The dispositions of the mind are natural or 
acquired. The former, which we are about to 
set forth in this chapter, are — 

1. A lively sensibility, 

2. A penetrating intelligence. 

3. A sound reason, or, as it is commonly 

called, good sense. 

4. A prompt imagination. 

5. A firm and decisive will, 

6. A natural necessity of expansion, or of 

communicating to others ideas and feel- 
ings. 
17. Finally, a certain instinct which urges % 
man to speak, as a bird to sing. 

§ 1. — A lively Sensibility. 

Art has its root in sensibility, and although 
It depends much on the body, aud especially on 
the nerves which are its physical medium, sen- 



12 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSASY. 

sibility is nevertheless one of the principal 
powers of the mind, not to say a faculty, as 
the word faculty denotes a manner of acting, 
and as sensibility is a manner of suffering or of 
sustaining an action. 

Thus the mind which lives only by its affini- 
ties, and which for action always requires an 
impression, acts only in proportion to the in- 
citements it receives, and the manner in which 
it receives them. It is, therefore, in this pe- 
culiar manner of receiving and appropriating 
impressions of things that consists the vivacity 
of sensibility necessary to speaking, as to every 
artistic expression. Every man feels according 
to his sensitiveness; but all do not feel in the 
same manner, and thus are neither able to ex- 
press what they feel in the same manner, nor 
disposed to the same kind of expression. Hence 
vocat>on to the different arts, or the natural 
inclination of the mind to express one particular 
thing which it feels the more, and with the 
greater pleasure. In this, also, lies the origin 
of taste in art, and for a particular art, whether 
in the exercise of such art or in the appreciation 
of iiis works. Some have more taste and faci- 
lity in the plastic ai'ts; others in the acoustic 



IH-ATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 13 

arts; and even in the exercise of the same art 
there are different dispositions to a certain 
mode of expression which produce different 
styles. Thus in poetry there are poets who 
compose odes, epic poetry, tragedy, comedy, 
satyi', idyls and eclogues, &c. &c., which are 
all poetic expressions of the human mind; and 
so far they resemble each other ; but they differ 
in the object which they reproduce, in the 
manner of representing it, and a poet in one 
style rarely succeeds in another. He can sing 
in one strain and not otherwise, as the song of 
a lark is not that of a nightingale. 

It is thus in the art of speaking, in eloquence 
as regards the object to be expressed. One 
speaker is more suited to set forth ideas, their 
connexion, and their gradations. He discerns 
perfectly the congruity, the difference, the con- 
trast of thoughts, and thus he will deliver 
them suddenly with much facility, delicacy, 
and subtilty. He has perception, a taste for 
idea; he conceives it distinctly, and will there- 
fore enunciate it gracefully and clearly. Such a 
one is made to teach and instruct. 

Another has a greater enjoyment of every- 
thing relating to the feelings, the affections, to 



14: NATUKAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 

soft or Strong emotions. He will therefore 
employ with greater pleasure and greater 
success all that can touch, move, and hurry- 
away : he will, above all, cause the fibres of the 
heart to vibrate. Such a one will be an orator 
rather than a professor, and will be better able 
to persuade by emotion than to convince by 
reason. 

A third delights in images and pictures. He 
feels more vividly everything that he caff grasp 
and reproduce in his imagination ; he therefore 
takes pleasure in these reproductions. Such a 
one will therefore be specially a descriptive 
speaker, and will rise almost to poetry in his 
prose. He will speak to the imagination of his 
hearers rather than to their heart or mind: he 
will affect but Httle, and instruct still less; but 
he will be able to amuse and interest, he will 
attract by originality, by the variety of his 
pictures, and by the vivacity and brilliancy of 
his colouring. 

In these different instances we see that sen- 
sibility is vividly excited either by ideas, by 
feelings, or by images ; and it is evident that he 
who would extemporise a discourse in one of 
these three methods must begin by feeling 



NATUKAL QUALITIES NECESSAKT. 15 

vividly the subject of which he has to speak, 
and that his expression will always be propor- 
tionate to the impression of it he will have 
received and retaiaed. 

But if sensibility must be strong, it must 
nevertheless not be excited to excess; for it 
then renders expression impossible from the 
agitation of the mind and the over-excitement 
of the nervous system, which paralyses the 
organs. Thus, the precept of Horace, " Si vis 
me flere, dolendum est primum ipsi tibi," is true 
only for those who write in their closet, and 
does not apply to the orator. Before the 
public, he must not weep, nor even be moved 
to such a point that his voice will fail him, or 
be stifled by sobs ; he must weep with his 
voice, and not with his eyes ; he should have 
tears in his voice, but so as to be master of 
them. 

At times, doubtless, a great eflTect may be 
produced by the very inability to speak, caused 
by the enthusiasm of feeling or the violence of 
grief; but then the discourse is finished, or, 
rather, it is no longer needed, and little matter, 
if the object be attained. But, for the art of 
oratory, sensibility must be restrained suffici. 



16 NATTTRAL QUALITIES 1TECE8SAEY. 

ently at least for words to run their proper 
course. The feelings must not explode at once, 
but escape little by little, so as' gradually tc 
animate the whole body of the discourse. It is 
thus that art idealises nature in rejecting all 
that from instinct or passion may be too rough 
or impetuous. The character of Christian art, 
that which renders it sublime, is, that in aU its 
works there is a predominance of mind over 
matter, of the soul over the body, of man over 
nature. Christian feeling is never intemperate, 
never disorderly. It is always restrained within 
a certain point by the power of that will which, 
assisted by the higher strength supporting it, 
governs events, or rather, does not yield to 
them ; and when it appears overcome it bends 
beneath the storm of adversity, but is righted 
by resignation, and does not break. It is more 
than the thinking reed of Pascal; it is a reed 
that wills. For this reason the types of Chris- 
tian art will never be surpassed. Never beneath 
the sun will there be seen images more sublime 
or more beautiful than the figures of Jesus 
Christ and the Virgin. In this point of view 
the Christian orator, inasmuch as he is a Chris- 
tian, is very superior to the Pagan orator ; he 



NATUEAL. QUALITIES NECESSARY. 17 

conceives, he feels very differently, both earthly 
and heavenly things, and his manner of feeling 
is more spiiitual, pure, and worthy of man, for 
being less material, it gives to his expression 
something noble, elevated and superhuman, 
approaching the language of heaven. 

The same may be said for the statement of 
ideas. It is doubtless necessary that they 
should be felt strongly with all that they 
embrace, so that they may be analysed and 
developed ; that the developed may be re-em- 
bodied, again concentrated, and reduced to 
unity. In this operation there is an infinity of 
gradations which must be delicately perceived 
and appreciated. But if this feeluig become 
too strong, or take too completely possession 
of the mind, analysis or exposition becomes 
impossible ; the speaker is absorbed by the con- 
templation only of the general idea, is unable to 
enter upon its development, and from that 
moment he is incapable of speaking. This is 
the case with men of genius, but of an exag- 
gerated mental sensibility, who feel the necessity 
of writing to display then- thoughts, because they 
require time to reflect and recover themselves 
from the fulness of the idea which overcomes 
C 



18 NATUEAI. QUALITIES TTECESSART, 

them at first, or when they are required to speak 
of a sudden. Such was probably the case with 
Rousseau, who was endowed with remarkable 
sensibility of mind. It may even happen that 
a too vehement and over exclusive perception 
of an idea may convert it into a fixed idea, and 
may lead to madness. Everything is so well 
balanced in our existence, everything must be 
done in such measure and proportion, that, no 
sooner do we exceed, however little, that mean 
point where lies the relative perception of hu- 
manity, — than we fall into exaggeration, which 
destroys and renders powerless as much as de- 
ficiency itself. — In medio vii^tics. 

For description, sensibility, and even exqui- 
site sensibility, is required, but here also not too 
much, otherwise we wander to impressions of 
detail, and we end by producing a species of 
poem or monograph of each flower or object 
which pleases us. 

It is what is called in painting tableaux de 
genre^ which may for an instant attract and 
amuse, but which do not represent one deep idea 
or one worthy of art. It is in literature that 
kind of poetry or romance which the Ger- 
mans, and especially the English, delight in, and 



NATUEAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 19 

which consists in painting in the greatest detail 
the commonest thmgs of life. Impressions are 
then taken from the domestic hearth, from the 
life of a family, or of a country, as aesthetic 
sentiments, as effects of art, falHng into a paltry 
realism, which lowers art in making it descend 
to the commonplace and absurdities of reality. 
Finally, it is the defect of those preachers who 
delight in continual descriptions, whether of 
physical or of moral nature, whose sermons, sub- 
ject to their taste for imagery, are only galleries 
of pictures which may amuse those who think to 
recognise in them the portraits of others, but 
which can never instruct nor touch any one. 
He who would speak well, therefore, must feel 
what he has to say with sufficient strength to 
express it with warmth and vivacity; but his 
feeling must not attain that vehemence which 
prevents the mind from acting, and paralyses 
the expression from the very fulness of the 
feeling. This would be a sort of intellectual 
apoplexy, taking away the gift of speech, and 
rendering it powerless by excess of lifcc 
02 



20 NATTTRAL QUALITIES NECESSAEY. 

§ 2. — JB^een Intelligence. 

In speaking, the feeling or that which is felt, 
must be resolved into ideas, thoughts, images, 
and thence into words, phrases, language, as a 
cloud or condensed vapour is transformed and 
distilled into rain. "Eloquium Domini sicut 
imbres," says the Psalmist. The faculty which 
effects this transformation, by the operation of 
the mind accounting inwardly and reflectively 
for all that is passing through it, is intelligence, 
or the faculty of reading in ourselves. It is 
for this reason that animals possessing sensi- 
bility, and at times senses even more subtle 
than those of man, are incapable of speaking, 
in a strict sense, although, like all other beings 
on earth, and especially livmg beings, they 
have a spontaneous language, by wliich is 
naturally manifested all that takes place in 
them. They have no intelligence, and thus 
they have neither consciousness nor reflection, 
though there exists in them a principle of life, 
gifted with sensibility and instinct, which gives 
them the semblance of human intelligence, but 
it cannot be maintained that they are reasonable, 
which would imply liberty and moral responsi- 



NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 21 

bility for their acts. For reason to exist, it is 
necessary that the mind, capable of feeling and 
seeing, should have the power of self-possession 
by means of reflection, and to consider and 
analyse by thought all that it has perceived 
and seen. Thus is formed m us an intel- 
lectual world peopled by our conceptions, that 
is to say, with ideas, with notions and images, 
which we can compare, combine, and divide in 
a thousand manners, according to their approx- 
imation or their difference; and which are 
finally expressed in speech, — the successive 
development of which is always the analysis of 
thought. 

Thus every extemporised discourse presup- 
poses a preliminary operation of thought. The 
thought must have been well conceived, held, 
and grasped in a single idea which contains the 
whole substance. Then, for the exposition of 
this idea, it must have been divided into its 
principal parts, or into other subordinate ideas 
as members of it, and then again into others still 
more minutely, until the subject is exhausted. 
This multitude of thoughts must be well ar- 
ranged, so that at the very moment each may 
arrive in the place marked out for it, and 
08 



22 NATUEAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 

appear in its turn in the discourse to play 
its part and falfil its function, the vahie of 
which consists in the antecedents which pre- 
pare and the consequences which develope it, as 
figures in an arithmetical operation have value 
in themselves and also by their position. 

Much intelligence is therefore required for 
this preparatory labour, so useful in extem- 
porisation; or, in other words, for the elabora- 
tion of a plan, without which it would be risk 
to hazard on ground so dangerous and so 
slippery. The first condition of speaking is to 
know what is intended to be said, and the 
greater the intelligence epaployed in the pre- 
paration of the speech, and the more clearly is 
it conceived, the greater the probability ©f 
presenting it well to others or of speaking 
well. 

That which is well conceived is clearly enun- 
ciated. 

Nevertheless, this first labour is not sufficient ; 
it is easy enough in the silence of the closet, 
pen in hand, to elaborate a plan to be com- 
mitted to paper, and polished at leisure. But 
this plan must pass from the paper to the head, 
and be there established in divisions and subdi* 



NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSAKY. 23 

visions, according to the order of-thouglits both 
as a whole and in detail ; which cannot be well 
done, and in a sure and lasting manner, unless 
the mind keeps the ideas linked by their inti- 
mate, and not by then* superficial relations; 
— ^by accidental or }3urely external associations, 
such as are formed by the imagination and the 
senses. In a word, there must reign between 
all the parts of tlie plan an order of filiation or 
generation; which is called the logical con- 
nection. Thus, the logical connexion is the 
product of the intelligence which intuitively 
perceives the connexion of ideas, even the 
most removed and the most profound; and of 
the reason which completes the view of the 
intelligence, by showing on the one hand con- 
nexion by a chain of intermediary ideas, and 
on the other the order of this connexion, by 
means of reflection, and unites them in a 
thought to be presented, or an end to be at- 
tained. 

Then comes a thii'd step, which exacts even 
a greater subtilty and greater promptitude of 
mind. This plarv which has been committed to 
paper, which is now carefully kept in the head, 
must be realised in words, and endowed with 
c4 



24 ITATUEAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 

flesh and life .in the discourse. It is like dry 
bones which, by the breath of the orator, are 
of a sudden to reassume their muscles, nerves 
and skin, and to rise, each in its plac&, to 
form a living body, beautiful to behold. The 
speaker must successively pass before his hearers 
all that he carries in his mind — all his ideas, 
in suddenly giving to each, in its place, oody, 
covering, -colour, and life. He should, how- 
ever, while speaking, Janus-like, see double , 
within, at his plan ; without, at the thread 
of his discourse; so as to keep within the 
line of his thought, without disturbing his 
arrangement, or diverging. He must, finally, 
be able, as on a day of battle, suddenly to 
modify what he has beforehand prepared; fol- 
lowing whatever may present itself, and this 
without relinquishing his principal idea, which 
sustains all, and without which he would become 
the plaything of chance. He requires still 
many things, which will be pointed out later, 
when we shall have to speak of the discom-se 
itself; and all of which, like those which we 
have just mentioned, presumes the exercise oi 
an intense, rapid, and most penetrating intel- 
ligence. 



HATUEAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 25 

§ 3. — Right Reason or Good &ense. 

A great deal of talent may exist "without 
common sense, and this is often the case with 
clever persons, and especially those who wish 
to appear clever. By endeavourmg to study 
objects under new phases, to say new things, or 
things apparently new, they end by never con- 
sidering them in a right light ; and the habit 
of regarding them in all manner of aspects, 
takes away the faculty of seeing them in full 
and directly, in their true meanings and natural 
bearings. 

!N'ow, nothing is so fatal to extemporisation 
as this wretched facility of the mind for 
losing itself in details, and neglecting the main 
point. "Without at this moment speaking of 
the construction of the plan, wherein simplicity 
and clearness, to which good sense is singularly 
conducive, ought, above all things, to prevail, 
it is evident that this quality, so useful in con- 
duct and in business, is more than ever so in 
the instantaneous formation of a discourse, and 
in the dangerous task of extemporising, whether 
as regards matter or manner. 

Good sense is the instinctive action of right 



26 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 

reason, discriminating with a rapidity of feel- 
ing, and by a sort of taste, what is or is not 
suitable in any given situation. Therefore, it 
is a sudden appreciation of a thousand bearings 
depending on circumstances, as when, amidst 
the fervor of delivery and from the general 
effect of the address — things not to be esti- 
mated by the plan alone, but declaring them- 
selves on the instant — an idea on which stress 
should be laid — what part of it should be ne- 
glected — what should be compressed — what 
should be enlarged upon — must all be promptly 
seized. Then a new thouo-ht which susrorests 
itself and must be mtroduced — an explanation 
which might run to too great a length and which 
must be abridged — an emotion or effect to be 
excited as you pass on without losing sight of 
the main effect — a digression into which you 
may enter without breaking the guiding thread 
of this labyrinth and while at need recovering 
it — all have to be judged of, decided upon, 
and executed at the very moment itself, and 
during the unsuspended progress of the dis- 
course. 

The same applies to the form or style of the 
speech. How many mental and literary pro- 



NATUEAL QITALITIES NECESSAEr, 27 

prieties to be observed! A doubtful phrase 
coming mto the mouth and to be discarded,- 
an ambitions, pretentions expression to 'be 
avoided,_a trite or commonplace term which 
occurs and to be exch,ded,-a sentence which 
IS opened with a certain boldness and the close 
of which is not yet clear,-eyen while you 
are finishing the development of one period 
your view thrown for,vard to the next thouoht' 
and to the link which is to connect it with That 
which you are ending ! Truly there is enough 
to produce giddiness when one reflects on the 
matter; nevertheless, the discernment of such 
a multiplicity of pomts must be instantaneous 
and mdeed it is performed with a kind of cer- 
tamty, and as it were of its own accord, if the 
subject have been fitly prepared, if yon be 
thoroughly in possession of it, and if you be 
well inclined at the moment. 

But in order to walk with this d.rect and 
firm step through a discourse, which arises, as 
It were, before the orator in proportion as he 
advances, like an enchanted forest, aU teemin<. 
with sorceries and apparitions, in which so many 
different paths cross each other,- in order to 
accept none of these brilUant phantoms save 



28 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSAET. 

those which can be serviceable to the subject, dis- 
pelling like vain shadows all the rest, — in order 
to choose exactly the road which best leads to 
your destination, and, above all, to keep con- 
stantly in that which you have marked out for 
yourself beforehand, shunning all the other 
byways, however alluring they may appear, and 
not allowing yourself to be carried aAvay or to 
swerve from your line, either in gait or deport- 
ment, — you most assuredly require that clear, 
decisive, and certain sight which good sense 
gives, and that kind of instinct or taste for truth 
which it alone produces. 

§ 4. — JReadiness of Imagination. 

Imagination is like a double-faced mii-ror, in 
part turned towards the outer world, and re- 
flecting its objects, in part towards the light of 
ideas, tinguig it with its hues, forming it into 
representations, and disposing it in pictures, 
while decomposing it as the prism the solar ray. 
It is thus that speech renders metaphysical 
objects ip-ore approachable and comprehensible; 
it gives them a body, or a raiment, which 
makes them visible and almost palpable. 



NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 29 

Imagination is one of the most necessary of 
the orator's faculties, and especially to him who 
extemporises, first, in order that he may he ahle 
to fix his plan well in his mind — for it is 
chiefly by means of the imagination that it is 
there fixed, or painted; in the second place, 
in order that it may be preserved there in full 
life, well connected, and well arranged, until 
the moment for realising it or putting it forth 
by means of the discourse. Imagination is also 
very useful to him in order to represent sud- 
denly to himself what he wishes to express to 
others when a new thought arises, and when 
an image, germinating, as it were, in the heat 
of oratorical action, like a flower ojoening 
forthwith under the sun's rays, is presented 
unexpectedly to the mind. Then the instant 
he has a glimpse of it, after having rapidly de- 
cided whether it suits the subject and befits its 
place, he, while yet speaking, seizes it eagerly, 
passes it warm beneath the active machinery 
of the imagination, extends, refines, developes, 
makes it ductile and ghttering, and marks 
it at once with some of the types or moultls 
which imagination possesses. Or else, if we 
may be allowed another comparison, the thought 



30 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 

passes tlirough the presses of the imagmation, 
like those sheets of paper which revolve be- 
t^veen the cylinders of mechanical presses, and 
issue forth all covered with characters and 
images. 

ISTow this most complicated and subtle labour 
must be performed with the quiclmess of light- 
ning, amidst the onward current of the discourse, 
which cannot be arrested or slackened without 
becominoj lano-uid. The imagination ouo;ht 
then to be endowed with great quickness in 
the formation and variation of its pictures ; but 
it requires also great clearness, in order to pro- 
duce at the first effort, a well-marked image, 
the lines and outlines defined with exactitude, 
and the tints bright, — so that language has 
only to reproduce it unhesitatingly, and uncon- 
fusedly, as an object is fiiithfully represented 
in a spotless glass. For you must not grope 
for your words while speaking, under penalty 
of braying like a donkey, which is the death of 
a discourse. The expression of the thought 
must be efi*ected at the first stroke, and de- 
cidedly- — a condition which hinders many men, 
and even men of talent, from speaking in public. 
Their imagination is not sufiiciently supple, 



NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 81 

T'eady, or clear ; it works too slowly, and is 
left behind by the lightning of the thought, 
which at first dazzles it, a result due either to 
a natural deficiency, or to want of practice ; or 
else — and this is the most general case with 
men of talent, it arises from allowing the 
mind to be too much excited and agitated in 
the presence of the public and in the hurry of 
the moment ; w^hence a certain incapacity for 
speaking, not unlike inability to walk produced 
by giddiness. 

§ 5. — Firmness and Decision of Will. 

Unquestionably courage is necessary to ven- 
ture upon speaking in public. To rise before 
an assembly, often numerous and imposing, 
without books or notes, carrying everything 
in the head, and to undertake a discourse in 
the midst of general silence, with all eyes 
fixed on you, under the obligation of keeping 
that audience attentive and interested for three 
quarters of an hour, an hour, and sometimes 
longer, is assuredly an arduous task and a 
weighty burden. All who accept this burden, 
or have it imposed upon them, know how 



32 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 

heavy it is, and what i^hysical and mental 
suffering is experienced until it is discharged. 
Timidity or hesitation Avill make a person inca- 
pable of the duty ; and such will always recoil 
from the dangers of the situation. 

\Yhen, indeed, it is remembered, how little 
is required to disconcert and even paralyse the 
orator, — his own condition, bodily and moral, 
which is not always favourable at a given mo- 
ment, — tliat of the hearers so unstable and 
prone to vary never known, — the distractions 
which may assail and divert him from his sub- 
ject, — the failure perhaps of memory, so that 
a part of the plan, and occasionally its main 
division, may be lost on the instant, — the inert- 
ness of the imagination, which may play him 
false, and bring feebly and confusedly to the 
mind what it represents, — the escape of an 
unlucky expression, — the not finding the pro- 
per term, — a sentence badly begun, out of 
which he no longer knows his way, — and finally, 
all the influences to which he is subjected, and 
which converge upon him from a thousand eyes, 
— when all these things are borne in mind, it 
is truly enough to make a person lose head or 
heart, and the only wonder is that men can be 



NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 33 

found who will face such dangers, and fling 
themselves into the midst of them. Kor, 
indeed, ought they to be courted save when 
duty urges,'*when your mission enjoins it, or in 
order to fulfil some obligation of conscience 
or of position. Any other motive — such as 
ambition, vainglory, or interest — exposes you 
to cruel miscalculations and well-merited down- 
falls. 

The strength of will needful to face such a 
situation is of course aided and sustained by a 
suitable preparation; and, of all preparations the 
best is to know Avell what you would say, and 
to have a clear conception of it. But yet, be- 
sides the possession of the idea and the chain of 
the thoughts on which you have a good hold, 
there is still the hazard of uttering appropriate 
or inappropriate words. Who is assured before- 
hand, that, on such a day, expressions will not 
prove rebellious to him, that the right phrase will 
come in the place appointed, and that language 
(like a sword) will not turn its edge ? It is in 
the details of diction at the moment, or the 
instantaneous composition of the discourse and 
of sentences, that great decision is required to 
select words as they fly past, to control them 
D 



34 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSAKY. 

iiumediately, and, amidst many unsuitaljle, to 
allow none but what are suitable to drop from 
the lips. Moreover, a certain boldness is 
required, — and who knows whether it will 
always be a successful boldness? — to begin the 
development of any sudden idea, without know- 
ing whither it will lead you — to obey some 
oratorical inspiration which may carry you far 
away from the subject, and finally, to enter, 
and to jump, as it were, with both feet together, 
into a sentence, the issue of which you cannot 
foresee, particularly in French, which has only 
one possible class of terminations to its periods. 
Nevertheless, when once you have begun, 
you must rigidly beware of retreating by any 
break in the thought or in the sentence. You 
must go on daringly to the end, even though 
you take refuge in some imauthorised turn of 
expression or some incorrectness of language. 
Timid minds are frightened from adopting 
these extreme resources ; for which reason we 
affirm that to expose oneself to this hazard, — 
and whoever extemporises does so, — decision 
and even a little rashness of will are neces- 
sary, beforehand and during the proce^-s, in 
order to sustain it, to undergo all without fnint- 



NATUEAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 35 

ing, and to reach the destination without a 
serious Iv'ound, or, at all events, without a fall. 



§ 6. — Exjmnsiveness of Character. 

There are two sorts of expansiveness, that of 
the mind and that of the heart. 

The mind seeks after truth, which is its 
natural object. 

Now truth is hke light, or rather, it is the 
light of the intelligence ; and this is why it is 
diffusive by its very nature, and spontaneously 
enters wherever an avenue is opened to it. 
When, therefore, we perceive or think that we 
perceive a truth, the mind rejoices in and 
feeds upon it, because it is its natural ali- 
ment; in assimilating and appropriating it, the 
mind partakes of its expansive force, and expe- 
riences the desire of announcing to others what 
it knows itself, and of making them see what it 
sees. It is its happiness to become a torch 
of this light, and to help in diffusmg it. It 
sometimes even glories in the joy 't feels; the 
pride also of enlightening our fellows, and so 
of ruling them to a certain extent, and of 
seeming above them, is part of the feeling. A 
d2 



36 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 

keen and intelligent mind, which seeks truth, 
seizes it quickly and conceives it clearly, is 
more eager than another to communicate what 
it knows; and if, along with this, such a mind 
loves glory, — and who loves it not, at least in 
youth ? — it will he impelled the more towards 
puhlic speaking, aisd more capable of exercising 
the power of eloquence. 

But there is, besides, a certain disposition of 
character and heart which contributes much 
to the same result, as is seen in women and 
children, who speak willingly and with great 
ease, on account of their more impressionable 
sensibility, the delicacy of their organs, and 
their extreme mobility. Something of this is 
required in the extemporiser. A self-centred 
person, who reflects a great deal and meditates 
long before he can perceive a truth or seize an 
analogy, and who either cannot or will not 
manifest what he feels or thinks until he has 
exactly shaped the expression of it, is not fitted 
for extemporaneous speaking. A melancholy, 
morose, misanthropic person, who shuns society, 
dreads the intercourse of men, and delights in 
solitary musing, will have a difficulty in speaking 
in public ; he has not the taste for it, and his 



NATUK^L QUALITIES NECESSAKY. 37 

nature is against it. What is needed for this 
art, with a quick mind, is an open, confiding, 
and cheerful character, which loves men and 
takes pleasure in joining itself to others. Mis- 
trust shuts the heart, the mind, and the mouth. 

This expansiveness of character, which is 
favourable to extemporaneous speaking, has cer- 
tainly its disadvantages also. It sometimes gives 
to the mind an unsettled levity and too much 
recklessness, and something venturesome or 
superficial to the style. But these disadvan- 
tages may be lessened or neutralized by a serious 
preparation, by a well-considered and well- 
defined plan, which will sustain and direct the 
exuberance of language, and remove by previous 
reflection the chances of digressiveness and in 
consequence. 

§ 7. — Instinctive or natural Gift of SpeaJnng. 

Art may develope, and perfect the talent of 
a speaker, but cannot produce it. The exer- 
cises of grammar and of rhetoric will teach 
a person how to speak correctly and elegantly j 
but nothing can teach him to be eloquent, or give 
that eloquence which comes from the heart and 
goes to the heart. All the precepts and auti- 
d3 



38 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 

fices on earth can but form the appearances or 
semblance of it. Now this true and natm-al 
eloquence which moves, jjersuades, and tran- 
sports, consists 01 a soul and a body, like man, 
whose image, glory, and word it is. 

The soul of eloquence is the centre of the 
human soul itself, which, enlightened by the 
rays of an idea, or warmed and stu*red by an 
impression, flashes or bursts forth to manifest, 
by some sign or other,, what it feels or sees. 
This it is which gives movement and life to a 
discourse ; it is like a kindled torch, or a shud- 
dering and vibrating nerve. 

The body of eloquence is the language 
which it requires in order to speak, and 
which must harmoniously clothe what it thinks 
or feels, as a fine shape haraionizes with the 
spirit which it contains. The material part of 
language is learnt instinctively, and practice 
makes us feel and seize its dehcacies and 
shades. The understanding then, which sees 
rightly and conceives clearly, and the heart 
which feels keenly, find naturally, and without 
efibrt, the words and the arrangement of words 
most analogous to what is to be ex^^i'essed. 
Hence the innate talent of eloquence, whick 



NATURAI^ QUALITIES NECESSARY. 39 

results alike from certain intellectual and 
moral aptitudes, and from the physical consti- 
tution, especially from that of the senses and 
of the organs of the voice. 

There are men organized to speak well as 
there are birds organized to sing well, bees to 
make honey, and beavers to build. 

Doubtless, aR men are capable of speaking, 
since they are rational beings, and the exercise 
of reason is impossible without s|)eeGh ; beyond 
all doubt^ moreover, any man may become 
momentarily eloquent, being suddenly illumi- 
nated by an idea, by some passing inspiration, 
or the vehement impulse of a feeling, or a 
desire • bursts also and cries of passion are 
often of a high kind of eloquence. But it 
is the effect of an instant, which passes away 
with the unusual circumstances which have 
produced it; during the rest of their lives 
these same persons may speak very ill, and be 
incapable of pronouncing a sentence in public. 
They have net the gift of words, and those 
alone who are endowed with it by nature, can 
derive advantage from the advice we offer 
in order to turn this precious talent to account 
in the service of truth and justice. 
i>4 



40 NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 

It is with eloquence as with all art ; to 
succeed in it you must be made for it, or called 
to it incessantly, and in a manner almost un- 
conquerable, by a mysterious tendency or in- 
explicable attraction, which influences the whole 
being, which ultimately turns to its object, as 
the magnetic needle to the north. At the 
root of all arts, so various in their expression, 
there is something in common to them all — 
namely, the life of the soul, the life of the 
mind, which feels the want of diffusing, mani- 
festing, and multiplying itself; each individual 
also has something peculiar and original, by 
which he is impelled, on account of his special 
organisation, or constitution of mind and body, 
to reproduce his mental life in such or such 
a way, by such or such means, or in such or 
such a material form. Hence the boundless 
diversity of the arts and of their productions. 
Speech is certainly the noblest and most 
powerful of the arts : first, because by its 
nature, it is nearest to the intelligence whose 
ideas it alone perfectly expresses; secondly, in 
consequence of the higher purity, the more 
exquisite delicacy of its means of expression, 
being the least gross of any, holding on to 



NATURAL QUALITIES NECESSARY. 41 

earth by nothing save a light breath; lastly, 
on account of its great directness of action, so 
powerful over the mind, making it conceive 
things, comprehend thought, and grasp the 
truth. 

In order, then, to exercise with success the 
art of speaking, — or to speak eloquently, — it 
is necessary to have a natural talent, which is 
a gift of Heaven, and which all science with 
its precepts, and all earth's teaching with its 
exercises, are unable +^ onv.^!^ 



42 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF ^UND. 



CHAP. in. 

MENTAL APTITUDES FOR PUBLIC SPEAKING, 
CAPABLE OF BEING ACQUIRED, OR FORMED BY 
STUDY. 

The dispositions vrliich can be acquired, or 
formed by study, come next after the natural 
aptitudes of the mind, and these will be the 
subject of this chapter. 

We give the name of acquired dispositions to 
certam aptitudes of mind, the germ of which is 
no doubt supplied by nature, but which may be 
called forth and developed in a remarkable 
manner by instruction, practice, and habit, 
whereas purely natural talent, although it also 
may be perfected by art, resembles, neverthe- 
less, to a certain extent, that instinct which 
attahis its object at the first effort. It may 
even happen that a remarkable acquired ability, 
such, for instance, as the art of speaking rheto- 
rically, has but slight natural root, that is, but 
little real talent, producing nothing exce2:)t by 



ACQUIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 43 

dint of art, practice, and toil ; but if the natural 
root be absent, however beautiful the products 
may at first appear, people soon feel their artifi- 
cial character and want of life. 

The acquired mental aptitudes are, the art or 
method of tliinklng and the art or 'method of 
saying. But before considering them, we will 
say a few words about the orator's fund or store 
of acquirem.ents, which must not be confounded 
with acquired qualities. 

§ 1. — Acquisitions or Fund needful to the Orator. 

The orator's capital is that smn of science or 
knowledge which is necessary to him in order 
to speak pertinently upon any subject what- 
ever ; and science or knowledge are not extem- 
porised. Although knowledge does not give 
the talent for speaking, still he who knows well 
Yvdiat he has to say, has many chances of saying- 
it well, especially if he has a clear and distinct 
conception of it. 

" What you conceive aright you express clearly ; 
And the words to say it in, come easily." 

It is an excellent preparation, then, for the 
art of speaking to study perseveringly, — ^not 



44 ACQtriRED QUALITIES OF MIXD. 

merely the matter about which you hive to 
discourse — a thiug always done before speaking 
in public, unless a person be presumptuous and 
demented, — but generally all those subjects 
which form part of a liberal education, and 
which constitute the usual instruction of men 
intended for intellectual and moral professions. 
These were what were formerly termed classical 
studies, and they included grammar, rhetoric, 
logic, a certain portion of literature, history, 
mathematical and physical science, and religious 
knowledge. These " classical studies " were per- 
fected and completed by the superior courses of 
the universities. 

To have gone through a good educational 
career, or been distinguished at school, as it is 
commonly expressed, is an immense advantage ; 
for it is m childhood and youth that tho 
greatest number of things are learnt, and learnt 
best, in the sense, that knowledge acquired at 
that age is the most durable. It is more than i 

this, it is ineffaceable, and constitutes an in- 4 

destructible fund, a sort of mental ground-work ^ 

upon which is raised all other instruction and 
education ; and this fimd, according to the 
manner in which it is placed in the mind 



ACQTJIKED QUALITIES OF MIND. 45 

determines the solidity and dimensions cf each 
person's intellectual and moral existence. 

It is impossible to estimate accurately the 
influence of the first instruction which a man 
receives : that influence depends upon the virtue 
of the words which instruct, and on the way 
they are received. It is a sort of fertilisation, 
the fruits of which are sometimes slow in 
ripening, and come forth late. As the life- 
giving action of instruction cannot be exercised 
except by words and the signs of language, the 
form often overlies the spirit, and many retain 
scarcely more than the letter or the words, 
which they reproduce from memory with great 
facility. The larger part of infantine successes 
and coUegiate glories consist of this. Others, 
on the contrary, deeply smitten with the spirit 
of what is said, early conceive ideas of a fertile 
kind destined to become the parent ideas of 
all their future thoughts. The more im- 
pressed and absorbed their mind is interiorly, 
the less vivid, the less brilliant it appears ex- 
teriorly. It carries within it confusedly ideas 
which are too great for what contains them, 
and of which it cannot yet render to itself an 
account ; and it is only afterwards, when it 



46 ACQUIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 

has capacity and time for reflection, that it 
knows how to recognise, turn to advantage, 
and bring forth to the Hght, the treasures buried 
within. 

Hence two kinds of fund or of intellectual 
wealth, the fruit of instruction, and derived 
from the manner in which it has been given 
and received. 

1. A collection of words, expressions, images, 
facts, superficial thoughts, common places, — ■ 
things commonly received and already dis- 
cussed; w^hatcA^er, in a word, strikes the senses, 
excites the imagination, and easily impresses 
itself upon the memory. It is not to be denied 
that this intellectual baggage, however light, 
accumulated during many years, and arranged 
with a certain degree of order, may be of some 
service towards speaking with facility on some 
occasions, but then like a rhetorician ; that is, 
composing on the instant a sort of discourse or 
harangue more or less elegant, wherein there 
may be certain happy expressions but few 
ideas, and which may yet afford a transient 
pleasure to the listener, without moving or 
instructing him. In many circumstances, dis- 
courses of this class are in keeping; they at 



ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND. 47 

least suffice. It is a part played in a given 
situation, a portion of the programme per- 
formed, and it is assuredly an adyantage not to 
be despised to acquit oneself of it ^dth honour, 
or even without discredit. 

2. But the real fund is in ideas, not in 
phrases, in the succession or connexion of 
the thoughts, and not in a series of facts or 
images. lie who has laid in a store in this 
manner is not so ready at a speech, because 
there is within him a veritable thought with 
which his spirit strives in order to master, 
possess, and manifest it, so soon as he shall have 
thoroughly entered into it ; such a man speaks 
not merely from memory or imagination, only 
and always with a labour of the understanding, 
and then what he produces is something with 
life in it and capable of inspiring life — and this 
is just what distinguishes the orator from the 
rhetorician. 

The latter may charm by his language, but 
he imparts no life ; and thus nothing is produced 
in the mind of the hearer. It is j^leasant 
music which delights the ear for a moment, 
and leaves nothing behind it. Vox et prceterea 
nihil. 



48 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MDTD. 

The former raises up a new set of objects in 
the hearer's mind, producing therein feelings, 
affections, emotions, ideas; he renews it, trans- 
forms it, and turns it into a likeness of himself ; 
and as the Almighty created all things by His 
word, so the true orator animates those T\'ho 
understand him by his, and makes them live 
with his OT\Ti intellectual life. But in this, as 
in all things, it is only by a Divine virtue 
that life is transmitted. The sacred fire 
which warms the bosom of the orator is inspi- 
ration from on high : pectus est quod disertum 
facit. Without this life-giving fire, the finest 
phrases that can be put together are but sound- 
ing brass and tinlding symbols. 

The fund to be amassed, therefore, by those 
who intend to speak in public, is a treasury of 
ideas, thoughts, and principles of knowledge, 
strongly conceived, firmly linked together, 
carefully wrought out, in such a way that, 
thi'oughout all this diversity of study, the mind, 
so far as may be, shall admit nothing save what 
it thoroughly comprehends, or at least has 
made its own to a certain extent, by meditation. 
Thus, knowledge becomes strangely melted 
down, not cumbersome to the understanding; 



ACQULKED QUALITIES OF MIXD. 49 

and not overburdening the memory. It is the 
essence of things reduced to their simplest ex- 
pression, and comprising all their concentrated 
vii'tue. It is the drop of oil extracted from 
thousands of roses, and fraught with their accu- 
mulated odours ; the healing power of a hun- 
dred-weight of bark in a few grains of quinine. 
In a word, it is the idea in its intellectuality, 
and metaphysical purity, compared to the mul 
tiplicity of facts and images from which it has 
been extracted, and of which it is the law. 
This point is not well enough understood in 
om' day, when material things are made para- 
mount, and the spirit is postponed to the letter 
— to such a degree indeed that even in instrua 
tion, and in spiritual or mental things, no less 
than in aU else, quantity is considered more 
than quality. 

Under the specious pretext of preparing men 
betimes for their future profession in society, 
and of making them what are called special 
men, theu' attention is directed from the tender- 
ost age to phenomena, which occupy the senses 
and the imagination without exciting thought ; 
and above all, without recalling the mind home 
to itself, in order to teach it self-knowledge. 



o 



50 ACQUmED QUALITIES OF MIND. 

self-direction, and self-possession, — worth, as- 
suredly, the knowledge or possession of every- 
thing else. Instruction is materialised to the 
utmost ; and in the same degree education is 
sensualised. It is driven headlong into that 
path which is the acknowledged reproach of 
contemporary art, — ^not nature and truth, hut 
naturalism and realism. People care no longer 
for any but jDositive, or, as it is styled, pro- 
fessional instruction, — that is, such as may 
directly serve to earn the bread of this world. 
Men are trained for the one end of turnin 
this earth to account, and securing in it a 
comfortable position. It is forgotten that the 
true man, like thought, is an idea even more 
than a body or a letter, and that the body 
and the letter have no value except from the 
idea which animates him, and which he should 
express. The ideal is dreaded now-a-days, or 
rather it is not understood, it is no longer 
appreciated, because our views are absorbed by 
the real, and the pleasures of the body are 
more sought after than those of the mind. 

For this reason the natural and physical 
sciences, which make matter their study, with 
mathematics as their handmaidens, because 



ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND. 51 

they measure the finite, are so much honoured 
in our clay. In these pursuits eV2rythmg is 
positive — ^matter, form, letter, number, weight, 
and measure; and as the end of these studies 
is the amelioration, or at least the embellish- 
ment of earthly life, the multitude rushes 
readily in this direction, and the mind becomes 
the servant, or rather the slave of the body. 

Every science, at present, which is not 
directly or indirectly subservient to some 
material want or enjoyment, — that is, to 
something positive, as the saying is, — falls 
into contempt and opprobrium, or is at least 
abandoned. Philosophy furnishes a melan- 
choly example. True, it has well deserved 
this fate by its excess and extravagance in 
recent times; and the same wiU invariably 
befall it, whenever it effects independence, 
and refuses fealty to Divine authority. It 
is the same with literature, the fine arts, and 
whatever promotes the civilization of men and 
the triumph of the Divine principle made 
after the image of God, over the brute formed 
after the image of the world. All these noble 
objects are abandoned as useless, or of little 
importance to the wants and happiness of 



52 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MLND. 

actual society. Religion has alone survived, 
thanks to her unchangeable teaching and her 
Divine origin, which place her above human in- 
stitutions and the vicissitudes of earth. But 
for the Rock of the Divine "Word, but for 
the Divine foundation-stone, on which she is 
built, she also, under pretence of rendering 
her more useful or more positive, more suited 
to the wants and lights of the age, would 
have been lowered and materialised, then 
the last link which binds hiunanity to heaven 
would have been broken, and the spiritual 
man would have been wholly interred in the 
slough of this world, buried in sensuality. 
Let but one glance be given at what has been 
the fate of Religion and its Divine authority, 
in some instances and a notion will be gained of 
the degradation from which Rehgion still pre- 
serves the human race. She is the last refuge 
of freedom and dignity of the mind against 
material force. Everywhere else, religious m- 
struction, without faith and without fixed rule, 
is at the mercy of human science, and therefore 
of the world's power, which makes that science 
the instrument of its own predominance. 

I crave forgiveness for this disgression which 



ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND. 53 

has escaped from a heart deeply saddened at 
the lowering of our system of studies and 
the decline of our education, which will lead 
to a new species of barbarism in this age of 
ours. 

I return to my subject, that is, to the fund 
which he who wishes to speak in public should 
form within himself; and I say to the young 
who may read me, — if, indeed, they will read me 
at all — I say, at least to those who may feel 
themselves impelled to the noble exercise of 
gloquence : " My young friends, before speak- 
ing, endeavour to know what you have to say, 
and for this, study — study well. Obtain by 
perseverance an acquaintance first with all that 
relates to classical learning; and then let each 
labour ardently in the department to which his 
•vocation urges hun. Whatever you study, do so 
solidly and conscientiously. Bend your whole 
mind "to the object: you seek to know, and let 
it not go till you have entered into, mastered, 
and grasped it, so as to comprehend it, to con- 
ceive it within yourselves, to possess the full 
idea of it, and to be able to give an account 
of it to yourselves and others. There is but 
one time for acquirement, the time of youth. 
E 3 



54: ACQUIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 

Bees gather in the fio^ver season only ; they 
afterwards live upon their wax ani honey. In 
youth all the faculties are wondrously adapted 
to receive and retain, and the mind eagerly 
welcomes what comes from without. It is 
now that supplies should be laid m, the 
harvest gathered, and stored in the garner. 
Later comes the threshing of the sheaves, and 
the severing of the grain from the straw, — 
the grinding, the formation of pure flour, the 
kneading of it, and the making of bread. But 
there would be neither bread, nor flour, nor 
grain, if there had been no reapmg, — and what 
can be reaped if the seed has not been cast, nor 
the ground opened and prepared ? Sow, then, 
the field of your mind as much as possible, till 
it, and moisten it with your sweat, that the good 
seed may bear fruit, and use the sickle cou- 
rageously in the heat of the day, in order to fill 
the storehouse of your understanding. Then 
when you shall have to feed a fiimishing people 
with the bread of eloquence, you will have in 
hand rich ears to beat, and generous grain 
yielding pure substance ; from this substance, 
kneaded in yovir mind with a little leaven 
from on high, imparting to it a divine fer- 



ACQUIRED QUALITIE-S OF MIND. 55 

mentation, you may form intellectual bread 
full of flavour and solidity, which, will give 
your audience the nourishment of mind and 
soul, even as bread gives aliment to the body." 

§ 2. — To Jcnoio how to speak^ you must first 
know how to think. 

We now come to the acquired qualities pro- 
perly so called, that is, to the art of thinking, 
and the method of expressing what is thought 
which may be learnt by study and formed by 
well-directed practioe. 

Although we think by nature, yet is there 
an art of thinking which teaches us to do with 
greater ease and certainty what our nature, as 
rational beings, leads us to do spontaneously. 
In all that man voluntarily does, liberty has its 
own share ; and liberty, which nowhere exists 
without intelligence, is ever the source of pro- 
gress and perfection. Man learns hov\^ to think 
as he learns how to speak, read, write, and sing, 
to move his body gracefully, and to use all the 
powers of mind and body. 

Logic teaches the art of thinking. The 
orator therefore must be a good logician ; not 
E 4 



56 ACQTjmED QUALITIES OF MIND. 

alone theoretically, but practically. It is not 
his business to know how to declaim about 
the origin and formation of ideas, nor about 
the four operations of thought. It is not 
the method of teaching, but the use of logic 
which he requires, — and a prompt and dex- 
terous familiarity with it he will not acquire 
except by long and repeated exercises^ under the 
guidance of an experienced thinker, an artist of 
thought, who y^'ill teach him how to do with 
ease what he knows how to do already of him- 
self imperfectly. 

We, in this point of view, somewhat regret 
the disuse of the old syllogistic method of the 
schools ; for we are convinced that, properly 
applied and seriously directed, it gives quick- 
ness, subtilty, clearness, and something sure 
and firm to the mind, rarely found in the 
thinkers of the present day. The fault for- 
merly, perhaps, was in the excessiveness of 
the dialectical turn, and frequently the style 
became spoilt by dryness, heaviness, and an 
appearance of pedantry. Still, men knew how 
to state a question, and how to treat it: they 
knew at which end to begin it in order to 
develope and solve it ; and the line of the ai'gu- 



i 



ACQUIEED QUALITIES OF MIKD. 57 

ment, distinctly marked out, led straight to 
the object and to a conclusion. The fault 
Dow-a-days is in an absence or deficiency 
of method. People remain a long time before 
their subject without knowing how to begin it, 
even though they rightly understand its very 
terms. This superinduces interminable prepa- 
rations, desultory introductions, a confused ex- 
position, a disorderly development, and finally 
no conclusion, or at least nothing decisive. 
There are really few men in our day who 
know how to think, that is, how to lay down 
and develope a subject in such a way as to 
instruct and interest those who read them 
or listen to them. A horror is everywhere 
felt for rules or for what imposes constraint, 
\nd, as nearly all the barriers have been re- 
iioved which supported and protected human 
activity by obliging it to exert itself within 
fixed lines, liberty has become disorder, men 
swerve from the track in order to walk at their 
ease; and, far from gaining by it, they lose 
great part of their time and their strength in 
seeking a path which would have been shown 
them from the outset had they chosen to accept 
of discipline, and to allow themselves to bo 



58 ACQUISED QUALITirS OF MIND. 

guided. In order to think in tiic'r o^vn fashion, 
or be original, they think at random, just as 
ideas happen to come, if any come ; and the 
upshot, for the most part, is vagueness, oddity, 
and confusion. This is the era of the vague 
and the ahnost. Everybody wants to speak of 
everything, as everybody wants to interfere 
in everything ; and the result is that amidst this 
flood of thoughts, this overflow of divergent or 
irreconcilable words and actions, the minds of 
men, tossed to and fro, float imcertain, without 
a notion where they are going, just as the wind 
blows or the current drives. 

I would bave, then, persons who nve intended 
for public speaking, follow a course of logic, 
rather practical than theoretic, in which the 
mind should be vigorously trained^to the divi- 
sion and combination of ideas upon interesting 
and instructive topics. These exercises should 
be written or oral. Sometimes it should be a 
dissertation on a point of literature, morals, 
or history ; and a habit should be acquired 
of composing with order and method, by point- 
ing out, in proportion as the student proceeded, 
the several parts of the discourse, the steps of 
tJie development, and means of jiroof — in a 



ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND. 59 

word, whatever serves to treat a subject suitably 
Sometinies it should be a discussion between 
several debaters, with the whole apparatus and 
strict rules of a_ dialectic argument, under the 
master's direction ; the disputants should not 
be allowed to proceed or conclude without re- 
ducing their thoughts to the forms of syllogistic 
reasoning, — a process which entails some length- 
iness, and even heaviness upon the discourse, 
but it gives greater clearness, order, and cer- 
tainty. At other times, the debate might be 
extemporaneous, and then, in the unforeseen 
character of the discussion and in all the 
sparks of intelligence which it strikes forth, 
will be seen the minds which are distinguished, 
the minds that know how to take possession 
of an idea at once, enter into it, divide, and 
expound it. There should, for every position 
or thesis, be the counter-position or antithesis, 
and some one to maintain it ; for in every 
subject there a^e reasons for and against. 
Thus would the student learn to look at things 
in various lights, and not to allow himself to 
be absorbed by one point of view, or by a pre- 
conceived opinion. But these gymnastics of 
thinking ought to be led by an intelligent mas- 



QO ACUUTRED QUALITIES OF MIND. 

ter, who suffers not himself to be swayed by 
forms or enslaved by routine. Real thinking 
mnst be effected under all these forms of dis- 
putation and argument, but the letter must not 
kiil the spirit, as frequently was the case in the 
scliools of antiquity. For then it would no 
longer be anything but an afiair of memory, 
and the life of intelligence would die away. I 
am convinced, — and I have made the experi- 
ment for a length of years in tlie Faculty of 
Strasbourg, where I had established those ex- 
ercises, which j^roved exceedingly useful, — I 
am convinced that young men, who thus occu- 
2>ied themselves during a year or two hi turn- 
ing over and handling a variety of questions, 
in stirring up a multiplicity of ideas, and who 
should, with a view to this, write and sj^eak a 
great deal, always M'ith order, with method, 
and under good guidance, would become able 
thinkers ; and, if endowed with high intelli- 
Q'ence, would become men migjhtv in word or 
in deed, or in botli together, according to their 
capacity, charactei and nature. 



ACQUIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 61 

§ 3. — Thcct Good Speaking may he learnt^ and 
how. 

However, it is not enough to think metho- 
dically, in order to speak well, although this be 
a great step towards it ; to express or say what 
is thought is also necessary; in other words, 
form must be added to the substance. 

We must learn then how to speak as well as 
how to think well. 

Here, again, practice surpasses theory, and 
daily exercise is worth more than precepts. 
Rhetoric teaches the art of language ; that is, of 
speaking or writing elegantly, while grammar 
shows how to do so with correctness. It is clear 
that before anything else, the rules of language 
must be known and observed; but correctness 
gives neither elegance nor grace, which are the 
most requisite quaUties of the orator. How are 
they then to be acquired ? 

In the first place there is what cannot be 
acquired — a natural fund, which nature alone 
can give. Women are remarkable for it. The 
gracefulness with which nature has endowed 
them, diiiiises itself generally mto their lan- 
guage ; and some speak, and even write, admi 



62 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIXD. 

rably, ■\vitlioiit any study ; under the sole in- 
spiration of feeling or passion. Credit, indeed, 
must be given to tlie mediiun in which they 
are placed, and the society in which they live, 
constituting a moral atmosphere in vrhich their 
very impressionable and open minds — unless wil- 
fully closed — absorb all influences with avidity, 
and receive a kind of spontaneous culture and 
education. As plants, w^hich bear in their germs 
the hidden treasures of the most brilliant and 
odoriferous flowers, inhale from the ground 
where they are fixed, and the air which encom- 
passes them, the coarsest juices and the subtilest 
fluids, whicli they marvellously transform by 
assimilation; so these delicate souls absorb mto 
themselves all they come in contact with, all that 
impresses or nourishes them ; which they mani- 
fest by a soft radiation, by a graceful efflorescence 
in their movements, actions, words, and Avhat- 
ever emanates from their persons. 

Women naturally speak better than men. 
They express themselves more easily, more 
vividly ; with more arch simplicity, because 
they feel more rapidly and more delicately. 
Hence the loquacity with which they arc re- 
proached, and which is an effect of their 



ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND. 63 

constitution and temperament. Hence there 
are so many women who write in an admi- 
rable and remarkable manner, although they 
have studied neither rhetoric nor logic, and 
even without knowing grammar or orthography. 
They write as they speak; they speak pretty 
much as the birds sing, — and their language 
has the same charm. Add to this the sweetness 
of their organ, the flexibility of their voice, the 
variety of their intonations, according to the 
feeling which animates them ; the mobility of 
their physiognomy, which' greatly increases 
the effect of words, the picturesqueness of their 
gestures, and in short the gracefulness of then- 
whole exterior : thus, although not destined for 
orators by their sex or social position, they 
have all the power of the orator, and all his 
success, in their sphere, and in the circle of 
their activity. For none better know how to 
touch, persuade, and mfluence, vrhich, I think, is 
the end and the perfection of eloquence. 

Men, then, who wish to acquire the art of 
speaking, must learn by study what most 
women do natm-ally; and in this respect those 
whose temperament most approaches the femi- 
nine, in greater sensibility, and livelier im- 



64 4.CQUIEED QUALITIES OF MIXD. 

pressionableness, will have less difficulty than 
others, and will succeed better. 

However, as the man who speaks in public 
has to express loftier ideas, general notions, and 
deeper or more extensive combinations, which 
imply depth, — penetration of mind, and reflec- 
tive power, — quahties very scarce among 
women, — ^he will never be able to expound 
these subjects, the result of abstraction and 
meditation, with grace of feeling and easiness of 
language spontaneously, and by nature. Ilere 
art must supply what nature refuses; by dili- 
gent labor, by exercises multiplied without 
end, the diction must be rendered pliable, the 
speech disciplined, and broken in, that it may 
become an amenable instrument which, obe- 
dient to the least touch of the will, and lightest 
challenge of thought, will furnish instantly 
a copious style, seeming to flow spontaneously, 
the result nevertheless of the subtilest art ; like 
fountains which, with great cost and magnifi- 
cence, carry the waters of our rivers into our 
squares, yet appear to pour forth naturally. 
Thus the words of the orator, by dint of toil 
and of art, and this even on the most abstract 
=5ubjects, ought to attain a limpid and an easy 



ACQUIKED QIJA;JTIES OF MIND. (]5 

flow, with which he hardly troubles himself, 
but to which his attention is all the time 
directed, in order to bring to aght the ideas 
m his mind, the images in his fancy, and the 
emotions of his heart. 

Such is the talent to be acquired! Fit 
fahricando faher^ says the adage ; and it is the 
same with the journeyman of words, and forger 
of eloquence. The iron must be often beaten, 
especially while it is hot, to give it shape ; so 
must we continually hammer language to be- 
come masters of it, and to fashion it, if we 
would become cabable of speaking in public. 
It is not enough to learn the rules of style, the 
tropes and figures of rhetoric; the use and 
proper application of them must be known ; and 
this cannot be learnt except by much speaking 
and much writing under the direction of an able 
master, who knows how to write and speak 
himself; for in this both precept and example are 
necessary, and example is better than precept. 

He who has a capacity for public speaking 
will learn it best by listening to those who 
know how to speak well, and he will make 
more progress by striving to imitate them than 
by all their instructions: as the young birds, 
F 



66 AOQUIKED QUALITIKS OF MIIsD. 

on their first attempts to quit the parent nest, 
try at first their nuskiiful flight in the track 
of their parents, guided and sustained by their 
wings, and venture not except with eyes fixed 
on them, so a youth who is learning how to 
become a writer, follows his master with confi- 
dence while imitating him, and in his first 
essays cleaves timidly at his heels, daring in 
the beginnmg to go only where he is led, 
but every day tries to proceed a little far- 
ther, drawn on, and, as it were, carried by his 
guide. It is a great blessing to have an able 
man for a master. It is wortli more than all 
books ; for it is a living book, imparting life at 
the same moment as instruction. It is one 
torch kindling another. Then an inestimable 
advantage is gained, for, to the authority of 
the master, which youth is always . more or less 
prone to dispute, is added the authority of talent 
which invariably prevails. He gladly receives 
the advice and guidance of the man whose 
superiority he recognises. This much is needed 
to quell the pride of youth, and cast down, or 
at least abate, its presumption and self-confi- 
dence. It willingly listens to the master it 
admires, and feels happy in his society. 



AOQUIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 67 

I had this happiness, and I have always 
been deeply grateful to the Almighty who pro- 
cured it' for me, and to the illustrious man wdio 
was the instrument of His beneficence. For 
nearly four years, at the Lyceum of Charle- 
magne and the Ecole Kormale, I profited daily 
by the lessons and example of Monsieur Yille- 
MAiAT, then almost as young as his pupils ; and, 
if I know anything of the art of speaking 
and AVTiting, I say it before the world, to him, 
after God, I ov^^e it. 



§ 4. — That to speah well i7i public^ one must 
first knoio how to write. 

Y'ou will never be capable of speaking pro- 
perly in public, unless you acquire such mastery 
of your own thought as to be able to decompose 
it into its parts, to analyse it into its elements, 
and then at need, to recompose, regather, and 
concentrate it again by a synthetical process. 
IS'ow this analysis of the idea, which displays 
it, as it were, before the eyes cf the mind, is 
well executed only by writing. The j)en is 
the scalpel which dissects the thoughts, and 

F 2 



68 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF l^HND. 

never, except when you write down what you 
behold internally, can you succeed in clearly 
discerning all that is contained in a conception, 
or in obtaining its well-marked scope. You 
then understand yourself, and make others 
imderstand you. 

You should therefore begin by learning to 
write, in order to give yourself a right account 
of your own thoughts, before you venture 
yourself to speak. They who have not learned 
this first, speak in general badly and with diffi- 
culty ; unless, indeed, they have that fatal 
facility, a thousand times worse than hesita- 
tion or than silence, which dro'wns thought in 
floods of words, or in a torrent of copiousness, 
sweeping away good earth, and leaving behind 
sand and stones alone. Heaven keep us from 
those interminable talkers, such as are often to 
be found in southern countries, who deluge 
you, relatively to anything and to nothing, with 
a shower of dissertation and a downpourmg of 
their eloquence ! During nine-tenths of the 
time there is not one rational thought in the 
whole of this twaddle, carrying along in its 
course every kind of rubbish and platitude. 
The class of persons who produce a speech 



A-OQUIEED QUALITIES OF MIOT). 69 

60 easily, and wlio are ready at the shortest mo- 
ment to extemporise a speech, a dissertation, or 
a homily, know not how to compose a tolerable 
sentence; and I repeat that, with such excep- 
tions as defy all rule, he who has not learnt 
how to write will never know how to speak. 

To learn to write, one must write a great deal 
in imitation of those who know how, and under ; 
their guidance, just as one learns to draw or • 
paint from good models, and by means of wise 
instruction. It is a school process, or a work- 
shop process, if the phrase be preferred, and to 
a great extent mechanical and hteral, but indis- ^ 
pensable to the student of letters. Thus the 
musician must tutor his fingers to pliancy, in 
order to execute easily and instantaneously all 
the movements necessary for the quick produc- 
tion of sounds, depending on the structui-e of ^ 
his instrument. Thus, hkewise, the singer 
must become master of all the movements of 
his throat, and must long and unremittingly 
practise vocal exercises, until the will expe- 
riences no difficulty in determinmg those con- 
tractions and expansions of the windpipe which 
modify and inflect the voice in every degree 
and fi-action of its scale. 
f3 



70 ACQUIPwED QUALrriES OF ]VnND. 

In the same manner, tlie future orator must, 
by long study and repeated compositions of a 
finished kind, handle and turn all expressions 
of language, various constiuctions of sentences, 
and endless combinations of words, until they 
have become supple and well-trained instru- 
ments of the mind, giving him no longer any 
trouble while actually speaking, and accommo- 
dating themselves unresistingly to the slightest 
guidance of his thought. 

With inverted languages, in which the sen- 
tence may assume several arrangements, this is 
more easy, for you have more than one way to 
express the same thought ; and thus there are 
more chances of expressing yourself, if not 
better, at least more conveniently. But in 
our language,* whose principal merit is clear- 
ness, and whose path is always the straightest, 
that is, the most logical possible, — a quality 
which constitutes its value, for, after all, speech 
is made to convey our thoughts, — it is more 
difficult to speak well, and especially to extem- 
2)orise, because there is but one manner of con- 

* The English huiguage holds, in this respect, a middle 
place between the French and the two great all-capable 
tongu?9 of classic antiquity. 



A.CQUIKKD QUALITIES OF MIND, Yl 

structing the sentence, and if you have the 
misfortune of missing, at tlie outset, this direct 
and single way, you are involved in a by-path 
without any outlets, and can emerge from it 
only by breaking through the enclosures or 
escaping across country. You are then astray, 
or lost in a quicksand, — a painful result for 
all concerned, both for him who speaks, and 
for those who listen. 

It is therefore indispensable to acquire the 
perfect mastery of your instrument, if you 
wish so to play upon it in pubhc as to give 
pleasure to others, and avoid bringing confu- 
sion upon yourself. As the violinist commands 
with the touch every part of the string, and 
his fingers alight on the exact point in order 
to produce the required sound, so the mind 
of the orator ought to alight precisely on the 
right word, corresponding to each part of the 
thought, and to seize on the most suitable 
arrangement of words, in order to exhibit the 
development of its parts with due regard to 
each sentence as well as to the whole dis- 
course. An admirable and prodigious task in 
the quickness and certitude of the discernment 
is executed at the moment of extemporising, 
f4 



72 ACQUIKED QUALITIES OF MIND. 

and ill the taste and the tact which it imphes. 
And here espociaEy are manifested the truth 
and use of our old Hterary studies and of tlie 
method which, up to our own day, has been 
constantly employed, but now apparently de- 
spised, or neglected, to the great injury of logic 
and eloquence. 

The end of that method is to stimulate and 
bring out the intelligence of youth by the 
incessant decomposition and recomposition of 
speech, — in other words, by the continual exer- 
cise of both analysis and sjiithesis ; and that 
the exercise in question may be the more 
closely reasoned and moie profitable, it is based 
simultaneously on two languages studied to- 
gether, the one ancient and dead, and not 
therefore to be learnt by rote, the other living 
and as analogous as possible to the first. The 
student is then made to account to himself 
for all the words of both, and for their bearings 
in particular sentences, m order to establish the 
closest parallel between them, the most exact 
equiponderance, and so to reproduce with all 
attamable fidelity the idea of one language in 
the other. Hence what are termed themes and 
versions, — the despair of idle school-boys, 



ACQUERED QUALITIES OF MIND. 73 

indeed, but very serviceable in forming and 
perfecting the natural logic of the mind, which, 
if carefully pursued for several years is the 
best way of teaching the unpractised and 
tender reason of youth all the operations of 
thought, — a faculty which, after all, keeps 
pace with words, and can work and manifest 
itself only by means of the signs of language. 

The superficial or positive philosopher ima- 
gines that the object of this protracted trial, 
which occupies the finest years of youth, is 
to learn Latin or Greek, and then exclaims that 
the result is not worth either the trouble or the 
time which it costs, and that, comparing one 
language with another, it would be more pro- 
fitable to teach children modern and spoken 
tongues which might hereafter be of use to 
them in life. Such persons would be quite 
right if this were the only end in view; for 
doubtless, French or German would be more 
serviceable for travel, trade, or anything of 
that nature. 

But there is another object which these per- 
sons do not see, although it is the main object : 
which is to teach thinking to individuals who 
are destined to work in social life by their 



T4 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND. 

thought, — to fashion labourers of the mind 
to the functions of intelligence, as an apj^ren- 
tice or handicraftsman is fashioned to material 
functions and bodily toil. As these last are 
taught to use their tool|, and therefore to know 
them thoroughly and handle them skilfully, in 
like manner the former must also learn per- 
fectly the implements of their calling, and 
tools of their craft, in order to use them ably 
on all possible occasions. Kow the necessary 
instrument, — thought's indispensable tool, — 
is language; and therefore, although people 
speak naturally and almost without any teach- 
ing, merely through living together, yet if 
a person wish to become an able workman ot 
speech, and consequently of thought, as if he 
sought to be an able locksmith or a skilful 
mason, he must get instruction in the pro- 
cesses of art, and be initiated in the rules 
and methods which make it easier and more 
efficient. 

This is obtained by the study of languages 
which is the object of classical ijursuits. From 
the elementary class to the " humanities," it 
is one course of logic by means of compa- 
rative grammar, — and it is the only logic 



ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND. 75 

of which youth is capable. It is the easiest 
training of thought by and through words, 
its material signs. A youth is thus taught 
for several years to learn the connexions of 
ideas by the relations of words, which he 
is continually fashioning and re-fashioning ; 
and while learning to form sentences, ever 
with a thought in view, the details of which 
he must explain and convey, he becomes used 
to analysis and combination, and executes, ia 
the humble functions of grammar, a prelude 
to the highest operations of science, which, 
after all, are but the decomposition and mar- 
shalling of ideas. 

Who does not at once see what facility 
the mind acquires by this perpetual comparison 
of the terms and idioms of two languages, 
which must be made to fit each other, and to 
what a degree thought becomes refined and 
subtile, ia the presence of some idea which 
has to be expressed ? the phrases of two lan- 
guages are measured and weighed incessantly ; 
they are compared, each with each, and each 
with the idea, to ascertain which will render 
it best. 

The efforts are not useless which are made 



76 ACQtnRED QUALITIES OF MIND. 

by these youthful minds who thus, day after 
day, wrestle with the thoughts of the most 
illustrious writers of antiquity, in order to un- 
derstand and translate them. How great a 
privilege to commune daily with the exalted 
reason, the noble ideas, and the splendid diction 
of those great and noble minds ! How great 
the advantage derived from such an intercouise, 
and how great the intellectual gain in such a 
company, and daily familiarity ! Then what a 
pleasure to have found an equivalent tei-m, and 
to have transferred into one's own language, with 
the same vigour or the same delicacy, what some 
famous author has said in his ! What profit 
in this concussion of idioms, from which the 
spark of ideas is so often striken forth, — this 
strife, unequal indeed, yet replete with a noble 
emulation, between a youth, trying the nascent 
strength of his thoughts, and some master 
mind whose works enlighten and guide hu- 
manity ! And finally, what more particularly 
concerns our subject, what facility of expres- 
sion, what aptitude for extemporaneous speak- 
ing, must not accrue from this habit, contracted 
from childhood, of handling and turning a 
sentence in every direction, until the most 



ACQUIEED QUALITIES OF MIND. 77 

perfect form be found, of combining its tenna 
in all ways, in order to arrive at the arrange- 
ment best fitted for the manifestation of the 
thought, of polishing each member of it by 
effacing asperities an(J» smoothing crevices, of 
balancing one sentence against another, in 
order to give the whole oneness, measure, 
harmony, and a sort of music, rendering it as 
agreeable to the ear when spoken, as it is 
luminous to the mind by which it is meditated. 

No ; in no other way can the artist of words 
be ever formed; and if a different method be 
attemj^ted, as is somewhat signified at present, 
you will have, not artists, but handicraftsmen. 
Means should always be proportioned to ends. 
If you want orators, you must teach them how 
to speak, and you will not teach them otherwise 
than they have been taught heretofore. All 
our (French) great orators of the seventeenth 
and eighteenth centuries have been formed in 
this manner, and I am not aware that there 
have ever been greater writers in the world, or 
that the glory of France in this partic ilar has 
been excelled. Let this splendour of civilisa- 
tion, this blooming forth of the mind in poetry, 
literature, and eloquence, which have always 



''• /? rr^ f 



IS ACQinKED QUALITIES Oi AUND. 

been the brightest crown and most beautiful 
garland of humanity on earth, be once aban- 
doned, in favour of conquest, and of the riclies 
produced by industry and commerce, — which 
are much to be admired^ no doubt, but, after 
all, minister more to body than to soul, 
— be it so ; we shall perhaps become more 
learned in material things, and certainly more 
wealthy ; we shall have more ways of winning 
money and of losing it, more ways of enjoying 
earthly life, and therefore of wearing out, and 
perchance of degrading it : but shall we be the 
happier? This is not certain. Shall we be 
the better? — less certain still; but what is 
certain, is, that the life of human society or 
civilization, however gilt, will be less beautifiii, 
less noble, and less glorious. 

There is another practice which strikingly 

conduces towards facilitating expression and 

towards perfecting its form ; we mean the 

)] earning by heart of the finest passages in great 

writers, and especially in the most musical 

poets, so as to be able to recite them at a single 

effort, at moments of leisure, during a solitary 

"vwalk for instance, when the mind so readily 

) wanders. This practice, adopted in all schools, 



ih y^fiTt'iniloTij ad"^ar^tf^gcoua in rhetcric, and' 
duvipg t,iie "bright; years of youth. At that 
ago it is easy and agreeable, and he who aspires 
to the art of speaking ought never to neglect it. 
Besides furnishmg the mind with all manner of 
fine thoughts, well expressed and well linked 
together, and thus nourishing, developing, and 
enriching it, it has the additional advantage of 
filling the understanding with graceful images, 
of forming the ear to the rhythm and number 
of the period, and of obtaining a sense of the 
harmony of speech, which is not without its 
own kind of music ; for ideas, and even such 
as are the most abstract, enter the mind more 
readily, and sink into it more deeply, when 
presented in a pleasing fashion. By dint of 
readmg the beautiful lines of Corneille and 
Racine, Bossuet's majestic and pregnant sen- 
tences, the harmonious and cadenced composi- 
tions of Fenelon and Massillon, one gradually 
and without efiTort acquires a language ap- 
proaching theirs, and imitates them instinctively 
through the natural attraction of the beautiful, 
and the propensity to reproduce whatever 
pleases ; and at last, by repeating this exercise 
daily for years, one attains a refined taste of 



so ACQUIEED QUALmES OF MUTD. 

• the delicacies of language and the shades of 
style, just as a palate accustomed to the flavour 
of the most exquisite viands can no longer 
endure the coarser. But what is only a dis- 
advantage in bodily taste, at least under 
certain circumstances, is always beneficial to 
the literary taste, which should seek its nutri- 
ment, like the bee, in the most aromatic 
portions of the flower, in order to combine 
them into delicious and perfumed honey. 

By this process is prepared, moreover, in the 
imaginative part of the understanding, a sort of 
capacity for the oratorical form, Jbr the shapmg 
of sentences, which I cannot liken to anything 
better than to a mould carefully prepared, and 
traced with delicate liues and varied patterns, 
into which the stream of thought, flowing full 
of life and ardour from a glo"«ing mind in the fii'e 
of declamation or composition, becomes fixed 
even while it is being cast, as metal in a state 
of fusion becomes instantaneously a beautiful 
statue. Thus the oratorical diction should be 
cast, all of one piece, by a single throw in order 
to exhibit a beautiful and a living unity. But 
for this a beautiful mould is indispensable, and 
the young orator, who must have further re* 



AOQUIEED QUALITIES OF MINT). 81 

received from nature the artistic power, cannot 
form within him that mould save with the 
assistance of the great masters and by imitating 
them. Genius alone is an exception to this 
rule, and genius is rare. 

The best rhetorical professors, those who are 
veritably artists of speech, and seek to fashion 
others to their own Hkeness, recommend and 
adopt this exercise largely ; it is irksome to the 
indolent, but it amply indemnifies the toil 
which it exacts by the fruits which it brings. 
There is, besides, a way of alleviating the 
trouble of it, and that is, to read and learn 
select pages of our great authors, while stroll- 
ing under the shades of a garden or through 
some rich country, when nature is in all her 
brilliancy. You may then recite them aloud in 
such beautiful scenery, the impressions of which 
deliciously blend with those of eloquence and 
song. Every young man of any talent or 
literary taste has made the experiment. 
During the spring time of life, there is a sin- 
gular charm for us in the spring time of nature ; 
and the redundance of fresh life in a youthful 
"soul trying its own powers in thought, in 
painting, o: vl poesy, is ma-vellousiy and in- 
G 



82 ACQUIRED QUALITIES OF MIND. 

stinctively wooed into sympathy with that 
glorious life of the world around, whose ferti- 
lising virtue evokes his genius, while it 
enchants his senses by the subtilest emotions, 
and enriches his imagination with varied 
pictures and brilliant hues. 

Moreover, — and this is a privilege of youth, 
which has its advantages as well as its incon- 
veniences, — poetry and eloquence are never 
better relished, that is, never with greater 
delight and love, than at this age, in the dawn 
of the soul's life, amidst the first fruits of the 
imagination and the heart's innocence, in the 
opening splendours of the ideal, which seems 
to the understanding as a rising sun, tinging and 
illumining all things with its radiant fires. 
The beauty that is understood and that which 
is merely sensible wondrously harmonise, they 
give each other enchantment and relief; or, to 
speak more truly, material beauty is appreciated 
only through the reflected light of mental 
beauty, and as the rays emitted by an idea 
illuminate and transfigure nature's forms and 
nature's life, — so nature, on the other hand, 
while it lovingly receives the lustre of some 
heavenly thought, refracts it gloriously ia its 



ACQUIRED QTJALITIES OF MIND. 83 

prisms, and multiplies, while reflecting its 
beams. 

All this the ycuthful orator, or he who has 
the power to become one, will feel and ex- 
perience, each person according to his nature 
and his character, as he awakens the echoes of 
some beautiful scene with the finest accents of 
human eloquence or poetry. While impressing 
these more deeply in his memory, by help of 
the spots wherein he learns them, which will 
add to and thereafter facilitate his recollections, 
he will imbibe unconsciously a twofold life, the 
purest and sublimest life of humanity, and that 
great life of nature which is the thought of 
the Almighty diffused throughout creation. 
These two great lives, that of man and that of 
nature, which spring from the same source, and 
thither return, blended without being con- 
founded within him, animating and nourishing 
his own life, the life of his mind and of his 
soul, will yet draw forth from his bosom, from 
his poefs or orator's heart, a stream of eloquence 
or of song which will run an imperishable 
course. 



02 



$4 PHYSICAL ACQUTBED QrAUTIES 



CHAP. IV. 

PHYSICAL QUALITIES OF THE OEATOB, 
NATURAL AND ACQUIRED. 

Ii is not enough for the orator to have ideas 
and to know how to express them, imparting 
the most graceful turn to his diction, and pour- 
ing forth copious words into the form of a 
musical and sonorous period; he must further 
know how to articulate his speech, how to pro- 
nounce and deliver his discourse. He must 
have propriety of voice and gesture, or the 
oratorical action, — a thing of immense im- 
portance to the success of eloquence, in 
which nature, as in everything, has a consi- 
derable share, but art may play a great part. 
Here, then, also is to be developed a natural 
predisposition, and a certain skill is to be 
acquired. 



PHTSICAI. ACQUIRED QUALITIES. 85 

§ 1.— 27ie Voice. 

The voice, including all the organs which 
serve to produce or modify it, is the speaker's 
chief instrument ; and its quality essentially 
depends, in the first instance, upon the forma- 
tion of the chest, the throat, and mouth. Art 
can do little to ameliorate this formation, 
but it can do much to facilitate and strengthen 
the organic movements in all that regards 
breathing, the emission of sound, and pro- 
nunciation. These matters ought to be the 
object of a special duty. 

It is very important, in speaking as in sing- 
ing, to know how to send forth and how to 
husband the breath, so as to spin lengthened 
sounds and deliver a complete period, without 
being blown, ^nd without breaking a sentence 
already begun, or a rush of declamation by a 
gasp, — needful, indeed, for lungs that have 
failed, but making a sort of disagreeable gap or 
stoppage. 

Care should also be taken not to speak too 

fast, too loud, or with too much animation at 

the outset ; for if you force your voice in the 

beginning you are presently out of breath, or 

o 3 



86 PHYSICAL ACQTnRED QBALTTIES. 

your voice is cracked or hoarse, and then yon 
tan no longer proceed without repeated elTortg 
which fatigue the hearers and exhaust the 
si^eaker. All these precautions, which appear 
trivial, but which are really of high importance, 
are learned by labour, practice, and personal 
experience. Still it is a very good thing to be 
warned and guided by the experience of others, 
and this may be ensured advantageously by 
frequent recitations aloud under the direction 
of some master of elocution. 

Enough stress is not laid on these things, if, 
indeed, they are attended to at all, in the 
schools of rhetoric, m Hterary establishments, 
and in seminaries, — wherein orators, neverthe- 
less, are expected to be formed. Scarce any 
but actors now-a-days trouble themselves about 
them, and that is the reason we have so few 
men in the liberal professions who know how 
to speak, or even to read or recite a discourse 
rightly. 

On this point the ancients had a great advan- 
tage over us ; they attached far more import- 
ance than we do to oratorical action, as we see 
in the treatises of Cicero and Quintilian. It 
was with them one half of eloqu^jnce at the 



PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QFALITIES. 87 

least ; and it is said that Demosthenes made it 
the orator's chief quality. They, perhaps, Aveut 
too far in this respect; and it came, doubtless, 
of their having to speak before the multitude, 
whose senses must be struck, whose passions 
must be excited, and on whom power and bril- 
liancy of voice have immense effect. As for 
us, we fall into the contrary extreme, and fre- 
quently our orators, even those most distin- 
guished in point of style, do not know how to 
speak their speeches. We are so unused to 
beauty of form and nobility of air, that we are 
amazed when we meet them. There is a cer- 
tain orator of our day who owes his success 
and reputation merely to these advantages. 
On the other hand, these alone are too little; 
we miss much when a fine elocution and an 
elegant or splendid delivery, carry off common- 
place thoughts and expressions, more full of 
sound than of sense. This is quickly perceived 
in the perusal of those harangues which pro- 
duced so great an effect when delivered, and in 
which scarcely any of the emotions experienced 
in listening to them is recovered after they have 
once been fixed warm, as it were, on paper by 
q4 



88 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES. 

the reporter's art. The spell of the oratorical 
action is gone from them. 

The modulation of the voice proceeds prin- 
cipally from the larynx, which produces and 
modifies it almost without limit, by expan- 
sion and contraction. First, then, we have 
the formation of the larynx, with its muscles, 
cartilages, membranes, and tracery, which are 
to the emission of vocal sound what the invo- 
lutions of the brain probably are, instrutnent- 
ally^ in the operations of thought. But, in the 
one case as in the other, the connexion of the 
organs with the effects produced entirely escapes 
us; and although we are continually availing 
ourselves of the instrument, we do not perceive 
in any manner the how of its ministrations. It 
is only by use, and experiments often repeated, 
that we learn to employ them with greatei 
ease and power, and our skill in this respect 
is wholly empirical. The researches of the 
subtilest anatomy have given us no discovery in 
the matter. All that we have ascertained is, 
that every voice has its natur.'J bell-tone, which 
makes it a bass voice, a tenor, or a soprano, 
each with intermediate .gradations. The middle 
voice, or tenor, is the most favom-able foi 



PHTSICAI. AOQUIEED QLALITIES. 89 

speaking ; it is that whicli maintains itself the 
best, and which reaches the farthest when well 
articulated. It is also the most pleasmg, the 
most endearing, and has the largest resources 
for inflection, because, being in the middle of 
the scale, it rises or sinks with greater ease, 
and leans itself better to either hand. It there- 
fore commands a greater variety of intonations, 
which hinders monotony of elocution, and re- 
awakens the attention of the hearer, so prone 
to doze. 

The upper voice, exceedingly clear at first, 
is continually tending towards a seream. It 
harshens as it proceeds, and at last becomes 
falsetto and nasal. • It requires great talent, 
great liveliness of thought, language, and elo- 
cution to compensate or redeem this blemish. 
One of the most distinguished orators of our 
time is an example in point. He used to suc- 
ceed in obtaining a hearing for several hours 
together, in spite of his lank and creaking voice, 
— a real victory of mind over matter. 

A bass voice is ^.^dth difficulty pitched high, 
and continually tends back. Grave and ma- 
jestic at the outset, it soon grows heavy and 
monotonous; it has magnificent chords, but, if 



90 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES. 

long listened to, produces frequently tne effect 
of a drone, and soon tires and lulls to sleep 
by the medley of commingling sounds. What, 
then, if it be coarse, violent, uttered with 
bursts? Why, it crushes the ear, if it thunders 
in too confined an apartment ; and if it breaks 
forth amidst some vast nave, where echoes 
almost always exist, the billows of sound re- 
verberating from every side, blend together, 
should the orator be speaking fast, and the 
result is a deafening confusion, and a sort of 
acoustic chaos. 

It is an advantage, then, to a speaker to 
have a middle voice, since he has the greater 
play for expression in its 'more numerous in- 
flections. It is easy to understand how, by 
constaa^j practice, by frequent and intelHgent 
recitatio: 5 under able guidance, a person may 
become iinaster of these inflections, may pro- 
duce them at will, and raise and loAver his 
voice in speaking as in singing, either gra- 
dually or abruptly, from tone to tone, up to 
the very hi^;^^hest, according to the feeling, the 
thought, or '>he emotions of the mind. Between 
the acts O'- the mental life and those of the 
organs wHirh are subservient to them there is 



PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES. 91 

a natural correspondence and an inborn ana- 
logy, by virtue of the human constitution, 
which consists of a soul in union with a body ; 
and, for this reason, all the impressions, agita- 
tions, shudderings, and throbbings of the heart, 
w^hen it is stirred by the affections and the 
passions, no less than the subtUest acts, the 
nimblest operations of the iatelligence — in a 
word, all the modifications of the moral hfe 
should find a tone, an accent in the voice, as 
well as a sign in language, an accord, a pa- 
rallel, in the physical life, and in its means of 
expression. 

In all cases, whatever be the tone of the 
voice, bass, tenor, or soprano, — what most 
wins upon the hearers, what best seizes and 
most easily retains their attention, is what may 
be called a sympathetic voice. It is difficult 
enough to say in what it consists; but what 
very clearly characterises it, is the gift of 
causing itself to be attended to. It is a cer- 
tain power of attraction which draws to it the 
hearer's mind, and on its accents hangs his 
attention. It is a secret virtue which is in 
speech, and which penetrates at once, or little 
by little, through the ear to the mind or iuto 



92 PHTSICAl ACQUIRED QUALITIES. 

the heart of those who listen, charms them, 
and holds them beneath the charm, to such a 
degree that they are disposed, not only to 
listen, but even to admit what is said, and to 
receive it \\dth confidence. It is a voice which 
inspires an affection for him who speaks, and 
puts you instinctively on his side, so that his 
words find an echo in the mind, repeating 
there what he says, and reproducing it easily 
in the understanding and the heart. 

A sympathetic voice singularly helps the 
effect of the discourse, and is, besides, the 
best, the most insinuating of exordiums (intro- 
ductions). I know an orator who has, among 
other qualities, this in his favour, and who, 
every time he mounts the pulpit, produces 
invariably a profound sensation by his apostolic 
coimtenance, and by the very first sounds of 
his voice. 

Whence comes, above all others, this quality 
which can hardly be acquired by art? First, 
certahily from the natural constitution of the 
vocal organ, as in singing; but, next to this, 
the soul may contribute much towards it by 
the feelings and thoughts which actuate it, 
and by the efforts which it makes to express 



PHYSICAL ACQITIKED QUALITIES. 93 

what is felt, and to convey it to others. There 
is something sympathetic in the lively and 
sincere manifestation of any affection ; and when 
the hearer sees that the speaker is really moved, 
the motion gains him by a sort of contagion, 
and he begins to feel with him and like him ; 
as two chords vibrating in unison. Or, again, 
if a truth be unfolded to him with clearness, 
in good order, and fervently, and if the 
speaker shows that he understands or feels 
what he says, the hearer, all at once enlightened 
aud sharing in the same light, acquiesces will- 
ingly, and receives the words addressed to him 
with pleasure. In such cases the power of 
conviction animates, enlivens, and transfigures 
the voice, rendering it agreeable and effective 
by virtue of the expression, just as a lofty 
soul or a great mind exalts and embellishes an 
ordinary and even an ugly countenance. 

The best way in which an orator can impart 
to his voice the sympathetic power, even when 
he may happen not to have it naturally, is to 
express vividly whatever he says, and conse- 
quently to feel it well himself, in order to make 
others feel it. Above all, the way -is, to have 
great benevolence, great charity in the heart, 



94: PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES 

and to love to put them in practice, for 
nothing gives more of sympathy to the voice 
than real goodness. 

Here the precepts of art are useless. We 
cfinnot teach emotion, nor quick feelings, nor 
the habit of throwing ardour and transport into 
word and action ; it is the pectus (heart) 
which accomplishes all this, and it is the pec- 
tus also which makes the orator — Pectus est 
quod disertum facit. For w^hich reason, while 
we admit the great efficacy of art and precept 
in rendering the voice supple, in disciplining 
it, in making it obedient, ready, capable of 
traversing all the degrees of inflexion, and 
producing each tone ; and while we recommend 
those who desire to speak in public to devote 
themselves to this preliminary study for the 
formation of their instrument, like some skilful 
singer or practised actor, w^e must still remind 
them that the best prepared instrument remains 
powerless and dead unless there be a soul to 
animate it ; and that even without any culture, 
without preparation, without this gymnastic 
process, or this training of the vocal organs, 
whoever is impelled to speak by feeling, by 
passion, or by conviction, will find spontaneously 



PHYSICAL ACQUIEED QTJALniES. 95 

the tone, the inflexions, and all the modifica- 
tions of voice which can best correspond with 
what he wishes to express. Art is useful 
chiefly to reciters, speakers from memory, and 
actors, and thus, it is not to be denied, much 
efiect may also be produced by the illusion of 
the natural. Still, it is after all an illusion 
only, a semblance of nature, and thus a thing 
of artifice ; and nature itself will always be 
superior to it. 

For the same reason an extemporised ad- 
dress, if it be such as it ought to be, is more 
effective, and more impressive, than a recited 
discourse. It smacks less of art, and the voice 
vibrating and responsive to what the speaker 
feels at the moment, finds naturally the tone 
most proper, the true inflexions, and genuine 
expression. 

§ 2. — Utterance,. 

Utterance is a very important condition of 
being audible, and consequently of being 
attended to. It determines the voice, or the 
vowel, by the modification which this last re- 
ceives from the consonant ; it produces syllables, 



96 PHYSICAL ACQUIEEI QUALITIES. 

and by joining them togetlier, gives the words, 
the series of which forms "^^hat is termed articu- 
late language. Man being organised for speech 
speaks naturally the language he hears, and as he 
hears it. His instinctive and original pronun- 
ciation depends on the formation of the vocal 
organs, and on the manner m which those around 
him pronounce. Therefore, nature discharges 
here the chief function, but art may also exert a 
certain power either to correct or abate organic 
defects or vicious habits, or to develope and 
perfect favourable aptitudes. Demosthenes, 
the greatest orator of antiquity, whose very 
name continues to be the symbol of eloquence, 
is a remarkable case in point. Everybody is 
aware that by nature he had a difficulty of ut- 
terance almost amounting to a stammer, which 
he succeeded in overcoming by frequently de- 
claiming on the sea-shore with pebbles in his 
mouth. The pebbles obliged him to redouble 
his exertions to subdue the rebellious organ, 
and the noise of the surge, obliging him to 
speak more loudly and more distinctly in order 
to hear his own words, accustomed him to the 
still more deafening uproar of the people's 
mighty voic;e in the market-place. 



PHYSICAL ACQUIEED QUALITIES. 97 

Professors of elocution lay great stress on 
>ii,^e manner of utterance, and they are right. 
To form and "break" the organs to a distinct 
and agreeable utterance, much practice is re- 
quisite, under able tuition, and such as affords 
an example of what it inculcates. 

First, there is the emission of the voice, — 
which the practitioner should know how to 
raise and lower through every degree within 
its range, — and in each degree to increase or 
diminish, heighten or soften its power accord- 
ing to circumstances, but always so as to pro- 
duce no sound that is false or disagreeable to 
the ear. 

Then comes articulation, which should be 
neat, clear, sharply cut, — yet unexaggerated, 
or else it will become heavy, harsh, and 
hammer-like, rending the ear. 

Next to this the prosody of the language 
must be observed, giving its longs and its 
shorts ; as in singing, the minims, semibreves, 
quavers, and crotchets. This imparts to the 
sentence variety, movement, and neasure. A 
written or spoken sentence admits, indeed, 
strictly of notation as well as a bar of music; 
and when this notation is followed by the voice 



98 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QrALITIES. 

of the speaker, naturally or artificially, the 
discourse gains in expression and pleasantness. 

Moreover there is accentuation, or emphasis, 
which marks the paramount tone of each sen- 
tence, and even in each word, the syllable on 
which the chief stress should be laid. Art may 
here effect somewhat, especially in the enim- 
ciation of words ; but as regards the emphasis 
of the sentence, it is impressed principally by 
the palpitation of the soul, thrilling with desire, 
feeling, or conviction. 

Finally, there is the declamatory movement, 
which, nke the measure in music, should adapt 
itself to what is to be conveyed, now grave and 
solemn, now light, rapid, with a guiding 
rein, slackening or urging the pace, becoming 
nervous or gentle, according to the occasion; 
bursting forth at times with the vehemence of 
a torrent, and at times flowing gently with the 
clearness of a stream, or even trickling, drop 
by drop, like water noiselessly filtered; which, 
at last, fills the vessel that receives it, or wears 
out the stone on which it falls. 

In vocal speech, as in vocal music, there are 
an infinitude of gradations ; and the orator 
should have che feeling, the instinct, or the 



PHYSICAL ACQTJIEED QUALmES. 99 

acquired habit of all these effects; and this 
implies in him a special taste and tact which 
ait may develope, but can never implant. And 
thus there is need of caution here, as in many 
other cases, not to spoil nature by science, 
while endeavouring to perfect her. School 
precepts may teach a manner, a certain me- 
chanical skill in elocution, but can never im- 
part the sacred fire which makes speech live, 
nor those animated, delicate, just feelings of an 
excited or impassioned soul, and of a mind con- 
vinced, which grasps on the instant the pecu- 
liarity of expression and of voice which are most 
appropriate. 

In general the masters of elocution and 
enunciation somewhat resemble M. Jourdain's 
professor of philosophy, who shows him how to 
do with difficulty, and badly, what he used to 
do naturally and well. We all speak prose, 
and not the worst prose, from the outset. It b 
pretty nearly the same with the enunciation of 
a discourse ; and with the utterance, the accen- 
tuation, and the management of speech. The 
best guides in these matters, the implied pre- 
dispositions, are nature and the inspiration of 
the moment; while example is the most pro- 



100 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALiriES. 

fitable kind of teaching. He who has a turn 
fcr eloquence will learn how to speak by hearing 
good speaking. It is orators who priucipally 
form orators. 

§ 3. — Oratorical Action. 

Under this title are particularly comprised 
the movements of the countenance, the carriage 
and postures of the body, and above all ges- 
ticulation; — three things which naturally ac- 
company speech, and in an extraordinary de- 
gree augment its expressiveness. Here, again, 
nature achieves a great deal; but art also 
assists, especially in the management of the body, 
and in gesticulation. 

An idea may be derived of what the coun- 
tenance of the speaker adds to his address from 
the instinctive want we experience of beholding 
him, even when he is already sufficiently 
audible. Not only all ears, but all eyes like- 
wise are bent upon the speaker. The fact is 
that man's face, and, above all, his eye, is 
the mirror of his soul; also, in the hght- 
uing of the glance, there is a flush of lustre 
which illumines what is said : and on this 



PHYSICAL ^CQUDRED QUA^EilTIES. 101 

account it was unspeakably to be regretted that 
Bourdaloue should have spoken with his eyes 
closed. One of the disadvantages of a recited 
speech is to quench, or at least to enfeeble and 
dim the brilliancy of the discourse. 

Besides which the rapid contractions and dila- 
tations of the facial muscles, — which are each 
moment changuig and renewing the physi- 
ognomy, by forming upon the \dsage a sort of 
picture, analogous to the speaker's feeling, or to 
his thought, — these signs of dismay or joy, 
of fear or hope, of affliction of heart or of 
calmness, of storm or serenity, all these causes 
which successively plough and agitate the coun- 
tenance, like a sea shaken by the winds, and 
which impart so much movement and life to 
the physiognomy that it becomes hke a second 
discourse which doubles the force of the first, — 
ought to be employed by the orator as so many 
means of effect, mighty with the crowd whom 
they strike and carry away. But it is imder 
nature's dictate that he will best employ them ; 
and the best, the only method which it behoves 
him to follow in this respect, is to grasp power- 
ftilly, and to conceive thoroughly, what he has 
to unfold or to describe ; and then to say it with 

h3 



102 I'HYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES. 

all the sincerity and all the fervour of convic- 
tion or emotion. The face will j^lay its ov,-!! 
part spontaneously; for, as the various move- 
ments of the countenance are produced of their 
own accord in the ratio of the feeling experi- 
enced, whenever you are really moved and under 
the influence of passion, the face naturally 
adapts the emotion of the words, as these that 
of the mind ; and art can be of little avail under 
these circumstances. 

Let us, in truth, not forget that the orator 
is not an actor, who plays a fictitious character 
by putting himself in another's position. He 
r.iust, by dint of art, enter into the situation 
which he represents, and thus he has no means 
of becoming impressed or moved except by the 
SL'Tdy of his model, and the meditation of his 
part. He must, accordingly, compose his voice 
as well as^ his countenance, and it requires great 
cleverness and long habit to imitate by the in- 
flexions of the voice, and the play of the phy- 
siognomy, the true and spontaneous feeling 
of nature. The actor, in a word, is obliged 
to grimace morally as well as physically; and 
on this account, even when most successful, 
when most seeming to feel what I e imper- 



PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QTJALITIES. 103 

senates, as lie in general feels it not, something 
of this is perceptible ; and it is the most con- 
summate actor's fate, that, through a certain 
illusion of the imagination, his acting is never 
more than a grimace. Hence the vice, and 
hence the disfavour of that profession, notwith- 
standing all the talent and study which it re- 
quires; there is always something disingenuous 
in saying what you do not think, in manifesting 
sentiments which are not your o\\ai. 

The orator, on the contrary, unless he chooses 
to become the advocate of falsehood, is always 
with the truth. He must feel and think what- 
ever he says, and consequently he may allow his 
face and his eyes to speak for themselves. As 
soon as his soul is moved, and becomes fervid, 
it will find immediate expression in his coun- 
tenance and in his whole person, and the more 
natural and spontaneous is the play of his phy- 
siognomy, the more effect it will produce. It is 
not the same, or not to the same degree, with 
regard to the movements of the body and to 
gesticulation. The body, indeed, and limbs of 
the speaker, animated by a soul exj^ressing 
Itself fervidly, will represent naturally to a 
h4 



104: PHYSICAL ACQUIKED QUALITIES. 

certain degree, by their outward moveraents 
the inward movements of the mind. But the 
machinery, if I may say so, is more complicated., 
heavier, and more cumbersome, because matter 
predominates here ; it is not easy to move 
without awkwardness and elegantly the whole 
bulk of the body, and particularly the arms, 
which are the most mobile organs, and those 
most in sight. How many have a tolerably 
good notion of speaking, and cannot move their 
arms and hands properly, or have postures of 
head and attitudes which are at once ungraceful 
and at variance with their words. It is in this 
department of action that speakers most betray 
their inexperience and embarrassment; and, at 
the same time, the clumsiness or inappropriate- 
ness of the gestures ; the puerility or affectation 
of the attitudes used, are enough to spoil the 
best speech's effect. 

Efforts are worth making, then, to acquire 
beforehand good habits in this respect, in order 
that the body, trained with deliberation to 
impulse of the words, and to adapt itself to 
their inspiration, may execute of its own accoid, 
and gracefully, the most expressive movements, 
may itself take the most appropriate attitudes, 



PHYSICAL ACQUTRED QUALITIES. 105 

and not have its limbs working ineffectually or 
untowardly, with the arms motionless and tied 
down to the figure, or the hands nailed to the 
pulpit or the platform balustrade. An abrupt 
or jerky gesticulation is specially to be avoided, 
such as a regular swing up and down, down 
and up again, of the speaker's arms, which gives 
the appearance of two hatchets incessantly at 
work. Generally speaking, moderation is better 
than superfluity of gesticulation. N'othing is 
more wearisome to the audience than a violent 
delivery without respite ; and next to a monotony 
of voice, nothing more readily puts it to sleep 
than a gestui'e for ever repeated, which marks 
with exactness each part of the period, as a 
pendulum keeps time. 

- This portion of oratorical delivery, more im- 
portant than is supposed, greatly attended to 
by the ancients, and too much neglected by the 
moderns, may be acquired by all the exercises 
ffhich form the body, by giving it carriage and 
ease, grace of countenance and motion; and 
still more by well-directed studies in elocMtion 
in what concerns gesture under a clever master. 
To this should be added the often-repeated 
study of the example of those speakers who 



106 PHYSICAL ACQUIRED QUALITIES. 

are most distinguished for the quality in ques- 
tion, — which is only too rare at the present 
day. 

But what perhaps conduces more than all 
this to form the faculty mentioned is the fre- 
quenting good company, — that is, of the so- 
ciety most distinguished for elegance of lan- 
guage and fine manners. IN'othing can supply 
the place in this regard of a primary education 
in the midst of the most refined class. In this 
medium the youth fashions himself, as it were, of 
his own accord, by the impressions he is every 
moment receiving, and the instinctive imitation 
of what he sees and hears. It is the privilege 
of high society, and of what used to be called 
men of the court. There one learns to speak 
with correctness and grace, almost without 
^tudy, by the mere force of habit; and if per- 
sons of quality combined with this facility of 
elocution that science, which is to be acquired 
only by study, and the power of reflection, 
which is formed chiefly in solitude, — and this 
is not very compatible with the life of the 
great world, — they would achieve oratorical 
successes more easily than other people. 
But they are, for the most part, deficient m 



PHYSICAL ACQTHEED QTJALmES It? 7 

acquirements, — whereas learned and thinking 
men generally err in the manner. 

To sum up : over and above the store of 
science and of knowledge indispensable to the 
orator, — who, beyond everything, should be 
acquainted with his subject, — the predisposi- 
tions most needful in the art of speaking, and 
susceptible of acquisition, are — 

1. The habit of taking thought to pieces, 

and putting it together, — or analysis 
and synthesis. 

2. A knowledge of how to write correctly, 

clearly, and elegantly. 
8. A capacity for the handling of language 
at will and without effort, and for the 
sudden construction of sentences, with- 
out stoppages or faults. 

4. A power of ready and intelligent decla- 

mation. 

5. A neat, distinct, and emphatic utterance. 

6. A good carriage of body. 

7. An easy, expressive, and graceful gesticu- 

lation. 
8* And, above all this, manners and an air of 
distinction, natural or acquired. 



PART II. 



CHAPTER V. 

DIVISION OF THE SUBiECr. 

We have stated all the dispositions, natural 
or acquired, which are necessary, or, at all 
events, most useful to the orator. We proceed 
now to set him to work, and we shall consider 
him in all the steps of his task, and the succes- 
sive processes which he has to employ, to carry 
it prosperously to completion. 

It is perfectly understood that we make no 
pretence to the laying down of rules; our 
object is not to promulgate a theory nor a 
didactic treatise. We are giving a few recom- 
raeudations derived from our o^^^l experience, — 
and each person will take advantage of tLem as 



DIViSION OF THE SUBJECT. 109 

he best may, adopting or leaying according to 
his convenience what he chooses, and following 
his own bent or requirements. 

Each mind, inasmuch as it is a personality, 
has its individual character, its own life, which 
can never be another's, although it resembles 
all of its kind. If in the physical world there 
are no two things quite alike, still less are» 
there among intelligent and free creatures. 
Here, a still more wondrous variety prevails in 
consequence of a certain liberty which exists, 
and which acts in these different manners, 
though limited to certain general conditions of 
development and subject to the same laws, 
To this is due the originality of minds, which is, 
in the intellectual order, what responsibility is in 
the moral. 

But while fully granting this variety of 
action, springing from the nature, dispositions, 
and circumstances of each person, still, after all, 
as we are of the same species and the same 
race, and as our mental and physical organisa- 
tion is at the root the same, we must all, when 
in similar situations, act in a manner funda- 
mentally analogous, although different as to 
form; and for this reason, indications of a 



110 DIVISION OF THE SDTBJECT. 

general nature, the result of a long and 
laborious experience, may, within a certam 
measure, prove useful to all, or at least to 
many. 

This it is which encourages us to unfold the 
results of ours, giving them for what they are, 
without imposing them on anybody, in the 
•deeply sincere desire of doing a service to the 
young generation which comes after us, and 
sparing them the rocks and mishaps of a 
difficult navigation often accomplished by us. 

To speak in pi\bhc is to address several per- 
sons at once, an assemblage incidentally or in- 
tentionally collected, for some purpose or other. 
"Now this may be done under the most diverse 
circumstances, and for various objects, — and 
accordingly the discourse must be adapted both 
in matter and in form to these varying condi- 
tions. Yet are there requisites common to 
them all, which must be everywhere fulfilled, 
if the speaker would speak pertinently, and 
with any chance of success. 

In fiict, the end of public speaking is to win 
the assent of the hearers, to imbue them with 
your own convictions, or at least tc incline 
them to feel, to think, and to will according 



DIVISION OF THE STJBJECT. Ill 

to your purpose, with reference to a given 
object. 

Hence, whenever you speak, and whatever 
the audience, there is something to be said 
which is indicated by the circumstances; there 
is the way in saying it, or the method and 
plan according to which you will imfold your 
thought ; ar d finally there is the realisation of 
this plan by the actual discourse, composed and 
dttered on the instant before those whom you 
would pers\mde. Thus in an extemporaneous 
discourse there are three things to be con- 
sidered : — 

1st. The subject being supplied by the cir- 
cumstances, there is the preparation of the plan 
or the organisation of the discourse, by means 
of which you take possession of your subject. 

2ndly. The transcript of impression of this 
plan (originally fixed on paper by the pen) in 
the head of the speaker, wherein it should be 
written in a living fashion. 

Srdly. The discourse itself, or the successive 
and, as far as possible, complete spoken realisa- 
tion of the plan prepared. 

Sometimes the two first operations blend 



Il 



113 DIYISION OF TSE subject. 

into one : — as, for example, you have to speak 
suddenly without having time to write your 
plan or to consider it. But when time is 
allowed, they should be separate, and each 
requires it own moment. 

We proceed to examine these three matters 
in succession. 



PBEPARATION OF THE PLAN. 113 



CHAP. VL, 

PEEPAKATION OF THE PLAN". 

The preparation of the plan of a discourse 
implies, before anything else, a knowledge of 
the things about which you have to speak ; but 
a general knowledge is not enough; you may 
have a great quantity of materials, of docu- 
ments, and of information in your memory, and 
not be aware how to bring them to bear. It 
sometimes even happens that those who know 
most, or have most matter in their heads, are 
incapable of rightly conveying it. The over 
abmidance of acquisition and words, crushes the 
mind, and stifles it, just as the head is paralysed 
by a too great determination of blood, or a 
lamp is extinguished by an excess of oil. 

You must begin, therefore, by methodising 

what you know about the subject you wish to 

treat, and thus, in each discourse, you must 

adopt as your centre or chief idea, the point 

I 



114: PEEPAEATION OF THE PLAN. 

to be explained, but subordinate to this idea all 
the rest, in such a way as to constitute a sort 
of organism, having its head, its organs, its main 
limbs, and all the means of connexion and of 
circulation by which the light of the paramount 
idea, emanating from the focus, may be commu- 
nicated to the furthest parts, CA^en to the last 
thought, and last word ; as in the human body 
the blood emerges from the heart, and is spread 
throughout all the tissues, animating and colour- 
mg the surface of the skin. 

Thus only will there be life in the discourse, 
because a true unity will reign in it, — that 
is, a natural unity resulting from an interior 
development, an unfolding from within, and 
not from an artificial gathering of hetero- 
geneous members and their arbitrary juxta- 
position. 

This constitutes the difference between words 
that live and words that are dead. These 
last may often also have a certain brilliancy 
from the gorgeousness of the style or the 
elegance of the sentence, but after having for a 
moment charmed the ear, they leave the mind 
cold and the heart empty. The speaker not 
being master of his subject, which he has not 



PEEPAEATICN OF THE PLAN". 115 

gone into, nor made his own by meditation, re- 
flects or reverberates other people's ideas, with- 
out adding to them a particle of his heat or of his 
life. It is a pale and borrowed Hght, which 
like that of the moon, enables you to see 
vaguely and indistinctly, but neither warms nor 
fertilises • possessing only a frigid and deadened 
iistre. 

Speakers of this kind, even when they ex 
temporise, speak rather from memory than 
the understanding or feeHngs. They reproduce 
"jaore or less easily shreds of what they have 
read or heard, — and they have exactly enough 
mmd to effect this reproduction with a certain 
facility, which tends to fluency or to twaddle. 
They do not thoroughly know what they are 
speaking about ; they do not themselves under- 
stand all they say, still less make others 
understand. They have not entered into their 
subject; they have filled their apprehension 
with a mass of things relating to it, Avhich 
trickle out gradually as from a reservoir or 
through a tap which they open and shut at 
pleasure. Eloquence of this description is but 
so much plain Avater, or rather it is so much 
troubled water, bearing nothing along its pas- 



116 PREPAKATION OF THE PLAN. 

sage bat words and the spectres of thoughts, 
and pouring mto the hearer's mind disgust, 
wearisomeness, and nausea. Silence, which 
would at least leave the desire of listening, were 
a hundred fold preferable ; but these spinners of 
talk, who give us phrases instead of thoughts, 
and exclamations instead of feelings, take away 
all wish to hear and inspire a disgust for speak- 
ing itself. 

There is no way of avoiding this disad- 
vantage except by means of a well-conceived, 
deeply-considered, and seriously-elaborated plan. 
He who knows not how to form such plan, 
will never speak in a living or an effective 
manner. He may become a rhetorician ; but he 
will never be an orator. 

Let us, then, see by what process this found- 
ation of the orator's taslE must be laid ; for it is 
to a discourse what the architect's design is to a 
building. 

The plan of a discourse is the 07'der of the 
things v)hich have to be unfolded. You must 
therefore begin by gathering these together, 
whether facts or ideas, and examining each 
separately, in then- relation to tlie subject or 
purport of the discom*se, and in theii* mutual 



PKEPAEATION OF THE PLAIT. 117 

bearings with respect to it. Next, after 
having selected those wnich befit the subject, 
and rejecting those which do not, you must 
marshal them around the main idea, in such 
a way as to arrange them according to their 
rank and importance, with respect to the 
result which you have in view. But, what 
is worth still more than even this com- 
position or synthesis, you should try, when 
possible, to draw forth, by analysis or deduc- 
tion, the complete development of one single 
idea, which becomes not merely the centre, 
but the very principle of the rest. This is 
the best manner of explaining or developing, 
because existences are thus produced in nature, 
and a discourse, to have its full value, and full 
efficiency, should imitate her in her vital pro- 
cess, and perfect it by idealising that process. 

In fact, reason, when thinking and express- 
ing its thought, performs a natural function, 
like the plant which germinates, flowers, and 
bears fruit. It operates, indeed, according to 
a more exalted power, but it follows in the 
operation the same laws as all beings endued 
with life ; and the methods of analysis and 
synthesis, of deduction and induction, essential 

I 3 



118 PEEPAEATION" OF THE 1 LAN. 

to it, have their types and symbols in the -vital 
acts of organic beings, which all proceed like- 
wise by the way of expansion and contraction, 
unfolding and enfolding, diffusion and collec- 
tion. 

The most perfect plan is, therefore, the plan 
which organises a discourse in the manner 
nature constitutes any being fraught with life. 
It is the sole means of giving to speaking a 
real and natural unity, and, consequently, i-eal 
strength and beauty, which consist in the unity 
of life. 

This is doubtless the best method; but you 
can often but make an approach towards it, 
depending on the nature of the subject and 
the circumstances in which you have to speak. 
Hence a few differences, which must be men- 
tioned, in the elaboration of the plan. 

In the first place, we give warning that wp 
do not mean to concern ourselves with that 
popular eloquence which sometimes fulminates 
like a thunderbolt amidst the anarchy of states 
in riots, insurrections, and revolutions. Elo- 
quence of that sort has no time to arrange a 
plan ; it speaks according to the circumstances 
and, as it were, at the dictate of the w^inds by 



PKEPARATION OF THE PLAN". 119 

which it is borne a'ong; it partakes of that 
disorder whicli has called it forth, and this is 
what, for the most part, constitutes its power, 
which is mighty to destroy. It acts after the 
fashion of a hnrricane, which npsets everything 
in its course by the blind ftiry of the pas- 
sions which it arouses, of the unreasonmg wills 
which it carries Avith it, and yields no ray 
from the light of thought, nor a charm from 
the beauty of style. This instinctive and not 
very intelligent kmd of eloquence is to that of 
which we are treating as the force of nature, 
when let loose in the earthquake or in great 
floods, is to the ordinary and regular laws of 
Providence, which produces, developes, and pre- 
serves whatever exists ; it is the force of the 
steam which bursts the boiler, and spreads dis- 
aster and death wherever it reaches ; whereas, 
when powerfully compressed within its proper 
limits, and du-ected with intelligence, it works 
regularly imder the control of a skilful hand, 
and toils orderly and in peace for the welfare 
of men. 

We have no recommendations, then, to offer 
to the orators of cabal rooms and riots, nor 
even to those who may be called on to resist or 

I 4 



120 PKEPAEATION OF THE PLAN. 

quell them. It is hard to make any suitable 
preparation in such emergencies, and, besides, 
they are fraught with so much of the unfore- 
seen, that, in nine cases out of ten, all prepara- 
tion would be disconcerted. What can be done 
is what must be done, according to the moment ; 
and, in general, it is the most passionate, the 
most violent, and he who shouts the loudest who 
carries the day. Moreover, there is nearly al- 
ways a species of fatality which prevails in 
these situations: the force of things crushes 
the force of men. It is a rock loosened 
from the mountain-side, and falling headlong, 
— a torrent swelling as it rushes onward, 'or 
the lava of a volcano overflowing: to endea- 
vour to stay them is madness. All one can 
do is to protect oneself; the evil will be ex- 
hausted by its own course, and order will 
return after the storm. 

But in the normal state of society, — and it 
is for that state we write, — ^by the very fact 
of social organisation, and springing out of its 
forms, there are constantly cases in which you 
may be called to speak in public, on account of 
the position which you fill or the duties which 
you discharge. Thus, committees will conti- 



PEEPAEATION OF THE PLAN. 121 

anally exist, in which are discussed state or 
municipal interests, and deliberative or board- 
room resolutions are passed by a majority of 
votes, whatever may be the constitution or the 
power of such assemblies, — considerations with 
which we have no concern here. There will 
always be a council of state, general and 
borough councils, legislative assemblies, par- 
liaments, and committees of a hundred sorts. 

In the second place, there will always be 
tribunals where justice is dispensed, and where 
the interests of individuals, in collision with 
those of the public or with one another, have 
to be contended for before judges whom you 
must seek to convince or persuade. 

There will always be a system of public 
teaching to e^ilighten and train the people, 
whether by the addresses of scientific men, 
who have to instruct the inhabitants in various 
degrees, and to inform them what is needed for 
the good guidance of public and of private life 
in temporal matters, or by the addresses of 
the ministers of religion, who, teaching in the 
name of the Almighty, must unremittmgly 
remind men of their last end, and of the best 
means with which to meet it, making their 



122 PEEPABATION OF THE PLAN. 

earthly and transitory interest subordinate to 
their celestial and everlasting happiness. 

Here, then, we have four great fields in 
which men are daily called on to speak in 
public, in order there to discuss the gravest 
interests of society, of family, and of indivi- 
duals, or else to unfold truths more or less 
lofty, often hard to comprehend or to admit, 
and the knowledge or conviction of which is of 
the highest moment to the welfare of society and 
persons. It is anything but immaterial, then, 
that men belonging to such callings, destined 
from day to day to debate public or private 
concerns, or to demonstrate the fundamental 
truths of science and religion, should know 
how to do so with method, clearness, power, 
and gracefulness, — ^in one woitl, with all the 
means of persuasion, — that they may not fail 
in their mission, and especially that they may 
disseminate and render triumphant in the minds 
of men, together with good sense and right 
reason, that justice, that truth, and those prin- 
ciples, in the absence of which nothing can be 
stable or durable among nations. This alone 
would show what importance for good or for 
evil the orator may acquire in society, since to 



PEEPAEATIOX OF THE PLAIT. 123 

his lot it falls to prepare, train, and control 
almost all the resolutions of communities or 
of indi^-iduals, that can modify then* present or 
decide their future condition. 

Our remarks then ^vill applv to four classes 
of speakers : — the political orator ; the forensic 
orator, whether magistrate or advocate ; the 
orator of education, or the ^^I'ofessor : and the 
orator of the Christian pulpit, or the preacher. 
In these four arenas, the political assembly, the 
sanctuary of justice, the academy, and the 
Church, extemporaneous speaking is daily 
practised, and is capable of the most salutary 
influence, when fraught with ability life, and 
power, or, in other words, when performed 
with eloquence. 



124 POLITICAL Am) FOEKN-SIC SFEAXmO, 



CHAP. vn. 

POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING. 

I WILL say but little of political and forensio 
speaking, because I have not been used to 
either, and my wish is to be the exponent of 
my own experience. I leave professional 
adepts to give their colleagues the best of all 
advice, that derived from actual practice. 
This would require details with which nothmg 
but the exercise of public duties, or of the 
bench and bar themselves, could make us ac- 
quamted. I will therefore confine myself to a 
few general remarks derived from the theory of 
the oratorical art, as applied to the duties of 
the pohtician and advocate. 

The political orator may have two sorts of 
questions to treat — questions of principle, and 
questions of fact. 

In the latter, which is the more ordinary case, 
at least among well constituted communities, 



POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING. 125 

whose legislation and government rest npon 
remote precedents and are fixed by experience, 
the plan of a discourse is easy to construct. 
With principles acknowledged by all parties, 
the only point is to state the matter with the 
circumstances which qualify it and the reasons 
which urge the determination demanded from 
the voice of the assembly. The law or custom 
to which appeal is made, constitutes the major 
premiss ( as it is termed in Logic ) ; the actual 
case, brought by the circumstances, within 
that law or those precedents, constitutes the 
minor j)remiss; and the conclusion follows of 
its own accord. In order to carry away the 
assent of the majority, you describe the advan- 
tages of the proposed measure, and the inex- 
pediency of the opposite course, or of any other 
line. 

To treat such subjects properly, there needs 
no more than good sense, a certain business 
habit, and a clear conception of what you 
would say and what you demand. You must 
thoroughly know what you want, and how 
to express it. In my mind, this is the best 
political eloquence, that is, business speaking, 
expounding the business clearly, succinctly 



126 POLITICAL AND FOEENSIC SPEAKING. 

with a knowledge of the matter, saying (»nly 
what is necessary, with tact and temperately, 
and omitting all parade of words and big ex- 
pressions, even those which embody sentunents, 
save now and then in the exordium and pero- 
ration, according to the case. It is in this way 
that they generally speak in the British Par- 
liament ; and these speeches are of some use ; 
they come to somethmg, and carry business 
forward, or end it. Happy the nation which 
has no other sort of political eloquence! Un- 
fortunately for us, another sort has pre- 
vailed m our own parliamentary assemblies. 

Among us, from the day that represent- 
ative government w^as estabhshed, political dis- 
courses have almost invariably turned upon 
q-.iestions of principle; no well established 
and universally respected constitution, — no 
settled course of legislation confirmed by cus- 
tom, — no recognised and admitted precedents, 
— things all of which strengthen the ora- 
tor's position, because he has already decisions 
on which to rest, and examples to give him 
their support. Time has been almost always 
employed, or rather wasted in laying dowD 



POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKING. 127 

principles, or in trying to enforce what were 
advanced as principles. The constitution itself 
and, consequently, the organisation of society 
and goyernment have always heen subjects of 
dispute ; and all our assemblies, — whatever the 
name with w^hich they have been adorned, — 
have been directly or indirectly in the state of 
a constituent (or primary) body. 

iNTow, this is the worst of situations for the 
orator, for the assemblies themselves, and for 
the country ; and experience has proved it, in 
spite of some good speeches, and the reputation 
of several orators of whom France is proud. 

In these cases, in fact, the speaker is greatly 
at a loss how to treat new and unexampled 
questions, except by foreign instances which 
are never exactly applicable to another country. 
His ideas, not being enlightened or supported 
by experience, remain vague and float in a 
kind of chaos ; and yet, as demonstration re- 
quires a basis of some sort, he is obliged 
to have recourse to philosophic theories, to 
abstract ideas which may always be disputed, 
which are often obscure and unintelligible to 
the majority of the hearers, and are impugned 



128 POLITICAL AND FOKENSIC SPEAKIN'G. 

by the votaries of hostile systems. Once 
launched into the ideas of philosophers the 
debate knows neither limits nor law. The 
most irreconcilable opinions meet and clash, 
and it is not always light which springs from 
their collision. On the contrary the longer 
the dehberation continues, the thicker the 
darkness becomes; Parliament degenerates into 
an academy of philosophers, an arena of sophists 
and rhetoricians ; and, as something must be 
concluded, either because of the j)ressure of 
necessity, or in consequence of the wearisome- 
ness of the speeches and the satiety of debate, 
the discussion is closed without the question 
having been settled, and the votes, at least 
those of the majority, are given, not in accord- 
ance with any convictions newly acquired, but 
with the signal of each voter^s party. 

It is said that such a course is necessary in 
an assembly, if business is to be transacted; 
and I believe it, since there would otherwise be 
no end of the deliberation. But it must be 
conceded to me withal, that to vote from confi- 
dence in party leaders, and because these have 
marked out the path to be pursued, is not a 
very enlightened way of serving one's coimtry 



POLinOAL AOTD FORENSIC 8PEAKTKG. 129 

and discharging the trust reposed by a con- 
stituency. 

Unfortunately, decisions thus formed lead to 
nothing permanent, and that is the fatal thing 
both for the assemblies and for the nation. 
They found nothing, because they are not held 
in serious regard by a community, divided like 
their Parliaments into majorities and minorities, 
which obtain the mastery in turn over each 
other. It comes to pass that what one govern- 
ment does the next cancels ; and as the battle 
is perpetually renewed, and parties competing 
for power attain it in more or less rapid succes- 
sion, every form of contradiction, within a brief 
space, appears and vanishes, each having suffi- 
ciently prevailed in rotation to destroy its rival. 

Hence a profound discredit in pubhc opinion 
for laws continually passed and continually 
needing to be passed again, and thus incapable 
of taking root either in the minds of the citizens 
or in their reverence. Legislation becomes a 
species of chaos in which nothing can be solidly 
fixed, because it abounds with elements of re- 
volt which combat and disorganise whatever is 
produced theie. 

Moreover, — and this too is a calamity fof 
K 



130 POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKIKO. 

the country, — as parties are, for the most part, 
not unevenly matched, and as the majority 
depends on a few votes, in order to come to a 
decision so habitually uncertain, it is necessary, 
on important occasions, to make a fusion or 
coalition of paities in one way or another by 
the lures of private interest, which can be 
effected only through mutual concessions ; and 
then, when unanimity appears to have been 
procured in the mass of stipulations, each per- 
son, desirous of obtaining his o^vn guarantees, 
requires that some special provision, on his 
account, be introduced in some particular to 
the subversion of the general design. Now, 
let but three or four parties exist in a na- 
tional assembly (and it is a blessing if there 
be no more), and it is easy to see what sort of 
law it will be which is thus made ; a species of 
compound, mixed of the most irreconcilable 
opinions ; a monstrous being, the violently united 
parts of which wage an intestine war, and 
which, therefore, after all the pain which its 
production has cost, is incapable of life. Nor 
can such laws be applied ; and after a disas- 
trous trial, if they are not presently abolished 
by the party which next obtiiius the mastery in 



POLrnCAL AND FORENSIC SPEAEZNG. 131 

its turn, they fall into disuse, or operate only 
by dint of exceptions and makeshifts, remain- 
ing as a cumber and a clog in the wheels of 
the political machine, which they continually 
threaten with dislocation or an upset. 

Whatever may have been said or done in 
our own day, there is nothing more deplorable 
for a people than a constitution-making assem- 
bly ; for it is a collection, of philosophers or of 
men who fancy they are such, who do not quite 
anderstand themselves, and assuredly do not 
understand each other. Then are the destinies 
of a nation, its form of government, its admin- 
istration, its condition and its fortune, its well- 
fare and its misery, its glory and its shame, 
consigned to the hazards and the contradictions 
of systems and theories. 

N'ow, only name me a single philosopher who 
has uttered the truth, and the whole truth, 
about the principles, metaphysical, moral, and 
political, which should serve as the basis of the 
social structure. Have they not in this most 
serious concern, to even a greater degree than 
in other matters, justified that ren\ark of Cicero, 
that there is not an absurdity tohich has not 
found some 2yhiloso27her to unabitain it f If you 
k2 



132 POLITICAL AND FOEINSIC SPEAKING. 

set several of them together, then, to work out 
a constitution, how cau you hope they will 
agree ? They cannot agTee except in one way, 
— that which we just now described, — by mu- 
tual concessions extorted from interest, not 
from conviction; and the force of things will 
oblige them to produce a ridiculous and im- 
practicable result, repugnant to the good sense 
and conscience of the nation. 

But how then, it will be said, make a na- 
tion's constitution ? To this I answer, a na- 
tion's constitution is not made, it grows of 
itself; or rather it is Divine Providence, who 
assumes the ofSce of making it by the process 
of centuries, and writes it with His finger in a 
people's history. It was thus the English con- 
stitution was formed, and that is why it lasts. 

Or if, unhappily, after a revolution which 
has destroyed all a country's precedents, which 
has shaken and uj^rooted everything in the 
land, it becomes necessary to constitute it anew, 
we must then do as the ancients did, who had 
more sense than we have in this respect; we 
must entrust the business to one man endowed 
with an intelligence and an autliority adequate 
to this great feat, and impersonating, for the 



POLITICAI. AXD FOEENSIC SPEAKING. 133 

moment, the entire natioi ; we must commit it 
to a Lycurgus, a Solon, or a Pytliagoras; for 
nothing needs more wisdom, reason, or courage 
than such an enterprise, and men of genius are 
not always equal to it, if circumstances do not 
assist them. At all events, to this we must 
come after revolutions, and theii* various expe- 
riments of parliamentary constitution. The 
seven or eight constitutions of the first republic 
ended in that of the empu-e which sprang full 
armed from the head of the new Jupiter ; and 
the Constituent Assembly of 1848, with its new 
buth so laboriously produced, but no more 
capable of life than the others, vanished in a 
single day before the constitution of the new 
empire, which is nothing at the root but that 
of the old. By this road we have come — if not 
to that liberty of which they have said so much, 
but which they never allowed us to behold — 
to good sense and order, and to the peace of 
social hfe. 

In one word, then, I will say, to close what 
relates to political eloquence : if you have to 
speak on a matter in which there are admitted 
principles and authorised precedents, study it 
well in its connexion with both, that you may 
k8 



134 POLITTCAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKTNQ-. 

have a foundation and examples. Then exaraino 
it in all its actual elements, all its ramifications 
and consequences. You will then easily con- 
struct your plan, which must be determined by 
the nature of things, and when you have well 
conceived and pondered it, you will speak 
easily, simply, and effectively. 

But if you must discuss the origin of society, 
the rights of men and nations, natural rights 
and social rights, and other questions of that 
kind, I have but one advice to give you : begin 
by reading on these questions all the systems of 
the philosophers and jurists, and after doing so, 
you Avill be so much in the dark, and will find 
such difficulty in arriving at a rational Con- 
viction, that if you are smcere and honest, that 
is, unwilling to assert or maintain anything 
except Avhat you know or believe, you will 
decline speaking, and adopt the plan of keeping 
silence, in order not to add to darkness or 
increase the confusion. 

As to the bar, with the exception of the ad- 
justments of corn prices* and the harangues at 

* In France and some other countries, as in England 
formerly, government interferes to settle the aiarket condl 
tioQS of certain staples, such as corn, flour, ai.d bread. 



POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKma. 135 

the opening of the courts, which are didactic or 
pohtical, and therefore, belong to another class 
of speaking,=^ the addresses or pleadings Avhether 
by advocates, or from the floor of the court, are 
always business speeches ; and accordingly tl;e 
plan of them is easy, because it is pointed out 
by the facts, and by the development of the 
matter in litigation. Besides, the speaker, in 
this description of discourse, has his papers in 
his hand ; and a man must be truly a blockhead, 
or else have a very bad cause to sustain, if he 
do not with ease keep to the line of his subject, 
to which everything conspires to recall and 
guide him. It is the easiest sort of speaking, 
because it demands the least invention, and 
because by comparing, however superficially 
the facts of the case with the articles of the 
law, the reasons for and against occur of them- 
selves, according to the side you wish to espouse, 
and the only thing in general to be done is to 
enumerate them with an explanation of each. 

And yet, in this, as in everything, good 
speeches are rare, because talent is rare in all 
things ; it is surely easier to be decently suc- 
cessful m a description of speaking which com* 
prises a number of details, proceeds entirely 
* [Not applicable to the United States.] 
k4 



136 POLITICAL AND FORENSIC SPEAKINGr 

upon facts, and is constantly supported by notes 
and corroborative documents. 

The preparation of the plan in addresses of 
this nature, costs, therefore, little trouble. The 
character of the subject bears nearly all the 
burden, and not much remains for the inven- 
tion or imagination. We should add that, 
having never pleaded, we cannot sj)eak in any 
way from experience, and theory is hardly of 
any use in such matters. 

The great difficulty for the forensic orator is 
not to develope his matter, or to discover what 
to say, but, on the contrary, to restrict it, to 
concentrate it, and to say' nothing but what is 
necessary. Advocates are generally prolix and 
diffuse, and it must be said in their excuse, they 
are led into this by the nature of their subject, 
and by the way in which they are compelled 
to treat it. Having constantly facts to state, 
documents to interpret, contradictory argu- 
ments to discuss, they easily become lost in 
details to Avhich they are obliged to attach 
great importance ; and indeed more or less 
subtile discussion on the articles of the law, of 
facts, and of objections occupies a very Inrge 
space. It requires and exceodmgly clear mind 



POLITICAL AND FOEENSIC SPEAKING. 137 

and no ordinary talent, to avoid being carried 
along by the current of this too easy eloquence, 
which degenerates so readily into mere fluency. 
Here, more than elsewhere, moderation and 
sobriety deserve praise, and the aim should be, 
not to say a great deal, and to avoid saying too 
much. 



138 ON PREACHING AND TEACHING. 



CHAP. YIII. 

SPEAKING FR03I THE CHRISTIAN PULPIT, AND IN 
TEACHING. 

We unite in oiu' enquiry so far as tlie pre- 
paring of a plan is concerned, both pulpit and 
professorial speaking. Altliougli there is a 
striking difference between these two modes of 
speaking, on account of the situation of the ora- 
tors, and of the subjects which they liandle, — a 
difference which we will indicate in passing, — 
yet a great analogy subsists between tliem, espe- 
cially in Avhat regards the plan ; for they both aim 
at instructing the hearers as their ultimate end, 
— that is, they aim at making the hearers under- 
stand and admit a truth, at impressing it on 
their conviction or persuasion, and at showing 
them the best means of applying it or putting 
it in practice. 

This resemblance, which may seem paradox- 
ical at first sight, is nevertheless founded in 
nature, if these several kinds of discourses be 



ON PREACHING AND TEACHING. 139 

thoroughly appreciated and considered, as to 
the end which they have in view, and not merely 
as to the oratorical form or words. 

What, in fact, is the preacher's grand f^im ? 
Whither must he tend with all his might? 
What do the nature and the gravity of his 
ministry make incumbent upon him? Clearly, 
the religious and moral instruction of those 
who listen to him, in order to induce them by a 
knowledge and conviction of the Divine Word, 
to observe it in their conduct, and to apply to 
their actions its precepts, counsels, and in- 
8j)irations. Wherefore, whether he expound 
a dogma, or morals, or what relates to worship 
and to discipline, he always takes as his starting 
point and basis some truth doctrinal or prac- 
tical, which he has to explain, analyse, unfold, 
maintain, and elucidate. He must shed light 
by means of and around that truth, that it may 
enter the hearer's mind, and produce therein a 
clear view, a conviction, and that it may arouse 
or increase his faith ; and this fait'i, this convic- 
tion, this enlightenment must induce him to 
attach himself to it, to s^ize it through his voli- 
tion, and to realise it in his life. 

However great may be, after that, the oma- 



140 ON PREACHING AND TEACHTl^G. 

ment and pomp of the style, the brilliancy and 
variety of imagery, the movement and pathos 
of the phrases, the accent and the action : 
whether he excite powerfully the imagination, 
or move the sensibility, awake the passions, or 
canse the heartstrings to vibrate, all that is 
well and good, but only as accessory, and be- 
cause all these means help the end, which is 
always the transmission of the truth. All these 
things lose, without the principal one, their real 
efficacy ; or, if they produce any effect, it will 
neither be deep nor lasting, from there being 
no basis to the speech; and from the orator 
havmg laboured much on the outside, and 
adorned what appears on the exterior, will 
have placed and left nothing inside. In one 
word, there is no idea in those words; only 
phrases, images and movements. I know 
well that one can carry away men with these, 
and inflame them for the moment ; but it is 
a blinding influence, that often leads to evil, 
or at least to an exaggeration that cannot be 
kept up. It is a passing warmth that soon cools 
in the midrit of obstacles, and fades easily in the 
confusion it has caused through imprudence and 
precipitation. 



ON PEEACHING AND TEACHING. 14:1 

An idea, or the absence of an idea, teaching 
earnestly, or speaking only to the imagination, 
convincing the mind and persuading vohtion, 
or carrying away the heart by the excitation of 
sensibility, — these distinguish sacred orators as 
well as others. But to instruct and convince 
the listener, one must be instructed and con- 
vinced. To make truth pass into other minds, 
one must possess it in one's own ; and this can 
only be done both for oneself and for others, 
independently of supernatural faith, which is 
ihe gift of God, by an earnest meditation of the 
aoly Word, and the energetic and persevering 
labour of thought applied to the truth one 
wishes to expound, and the point of doctrine 
one has to teach. The same exists in all kinds 
of scientific or literary teaching. 

It is evident in philosophy. He who teaches 
has always a doctrine to expound. Let him 
treat of faculties of the soul; of the operation 
of thought and its method ; of duties and rights ; 
of justice ; of what is good ; and even of what 
is beautiful; of the Supreme Being; of beings 
and their laws; of the finite and the uifinite; 
of contingent and necessary matter; of the 
relative and the absolute : he has always before 



142 ON PEEACHING AND TEACHING. 

him an idea to expose, to deve'iope and illustrate ^ 
and the acquaintance with this idea that he tries 
to form in his disciples must help to make them 
better as well as more enlightened, or else 
philosophy is no more worthy of her name. 
She would neither be the lover of wisdom nor 
its pursuit. 

If in the teaching of natural sciences the 
professor limits himself to practical experiences, 
to describe facts and phenomena, he will, no 
doubt, be able to amuse and interest his listen- 
ers, youth particularly; but then he is only a 
painter, an experimenter, or an empiric. His 
is natural philosophy in sjDort, and his lectures 
are a kind of show, or recreative sittings. To 
be really a professor he must teach, and he can 
only teach through ideas ; that is, by exj^laining 
the laws that rule facts, and by connecting them 
as much as possible with the whole of the admi- 
rable system of the creation. He must lead his 
disciples up to the heights that command facts ; 
down in the depths from whence sj^ring pheno- 
mena; and there will only be science* in his 
teaching if he limits it to some heads of doc- 
trine, the connexion of which constitutes 
precisely the science of which he is the master. 



ON PREACHING AIH) TEACHING. 143 

He will then be able to follow them in their 
consequences, and to confirm their theory by 
applications to mechanical and industrial arts, 
or to any other use for humanity. 

The teaching of letters and of arts is in the 
same condition : it always must be directed by 
the exposition of principles, rules, and methods. 
It is not sufficient to admire ecstatically great 
models, and become enthusiastic for master 
works. It is something without doubt, when 
the enthusiasm is sincere and the admiration 
is truly felt; but the teaching must be di- 
dactic ; he must himself learn while he teaches 
the secret of the work ; he must indicate the 
process, and direct the work. He must teach 
the pupils to acknowledge, to have a taste for 
what is beautiful, and to reproduce it ; and for 
that we must be able to say in what the beau- 
tiful consists in each art, and how we come to 
discern it in nature, to preserve or imagine it 
in our minds while idealising it, and to transfer 
the ideal into reality by the resources of art. 

Although here facts and examples have more 
influence, because feeling and imagination play 
the chief part in the work, yet ideas are also 
necessary, and especially in literature, poetry, 



144: ON PREACHING AND TEACHINO. 

and the arts of language. That which chiefly 
distinguishes artists and schools from each- 
other is the predominance of the idea, or the 
predominance of the form. The most beautiful 
forms in the world, without idea, remain super- 
ficial, cold, and dead. The idea alone gives life 
to any human production, as the Divine ideas 
vivify the productions of nature. For in all 
things the spirit quickeneth; but the letter, 
when alone, killeth. Therefore, he who teaches 
literature or art ought to have a method, 
a certain science of his art, the principles of 
which he should expound, by rules and pro- 
cesses, applying them practically, and support- 
ing them wdth examples. 

"Were we to pass in review all kinds of 
instruction one after another, we should find 
the same end and the same conditions as in pul- 
pit discourse or in religious teaching; namely: 
the clear exposition of same truth for the 
instruction of the hearer, with a view to con- 
vince him and induce him to act according to 
his conviction. 

Let us see, then, at present in a general 
way, how we- should set about preparing the 
plan of a discourse, and doing what we have 



ON PREACHIN-G AND TEACHING. 14:5 

just said, whether as a preacher or as a pro- 
fessor. We shall here speak from experience, 
a circmnstance which gives us some confidence, 
because we are about to expound with simpli- 
city what we have been accustomed to do for 
nearly forty years in teaching philosophy, and 
what we still do, and desire to do while any 
strength and energy remain, in the pulpit. 



14:8 THE SITBJECT AlO) ITS PODTT. 



CHAP. IX. 

DETEEMnSTATION OF THE SUBJECT AND CONCEP- 
TION OE THE IDEA OF THE DISCOUESE. 

He who wishes to speak in public must, above 
all, see clearly on what he has to speak, and 
rightly conceive what he has to say. The pre- 
cise determination of the subject, and the idea 
of the discourse, — these are the two first 
stages of the preparation. 

It is not so easy as it seems to know upon 
what one is to speak : many orators, at least, 
seem to be ignorant of it, or to forget it, in the 
course of their address; for it is sometimes 
their case to speak of all things except those 
which would best relate to the occasion. This 
exact determination of the subject is still 
more needful in extemporisation ; for there 
many more chances of discursiveness .exist. 
The address not being sustained by the me- 
mory or by notes, the mind is more exposed to 
the influences of the moment ; and nothing is 






THE SUBJECT ANT> ITS POINT. 147 

required but the failure or inexactitude of a 
word, the suggestion of a new thought, a little 
inattention, to lure it from the subject, and 
throw it into some crossroad, which takes it 
far away. Add the necessity of continuing, 
when once a sj)eech is begun, because to stop is 
embarrassing ; to withdraw, a disgrace. 

Therefore, in order to lead and sustain the 
progress of a discourse, one must clearly know 
whence one starts, and whither one goes, and 
never lose sight of either the point of departure 
or the destination. But, to effect this, the road 
must be measured beforehand, and the principal 
distance marks must have been placed. There is 
a risk else of losing one's way, and then, either 
one arrives at no end, even after much fatigue, 
productive of interminable discourses leading 
to nothing, — or if one at last reaches the 
destination, it is after an infinity of turns and 
circuits, which have wearied the hearer as weU 
as the speaker, without profit or pleasure for 
anybody. 

The determination of the subject ought not 
to fix merely the point upon which one has to 
speak, but further the radiation of this point 
and the circumference which it will embrace. 

L 2 



148 THE SUBJECT AND ITS POINT. 

The circle clearly may be more or less ex 
tensive, for all things are connected in the 
world of ideas, even more than in that of 
bodies, and as, in fine, all is in each, you may 
speak of everything in connexion with any- 
thing, a^d this is what too often befalls those 
, who extemporise. 

Then the discourse leads the mind, not the 
mind the discourse. It is a ship which falls 
away for want of a helm, and he who is within, 
unable to control her, abandons himself to the 
current of the stream, at the risk of wrecking 
himself upon the first breaker, and not knowing 
where he shall touch the shore. 

It is but wise, then, not to begin a speech 
without having at least by a rapid general view, 
if there be no time to prepare a plan, decided 
the main fine of the discourse, and sketched in 
the mind an outline of its most prominent 
features. In this precepts are not of great 
use; good sense, tact, and a clear and lively 
intelligence are requisite to seize exactly the 
point in question and to hold to it ; and for this 
end nothmg is better than to formularise it at 
once by some expression, some proposition, 
which may serve to reduce the subject to its 



THE SUBJECT AJSHD ITS POINT. 149 

simplest shape, and to determine its propor- 
tions. 

A question well stated is half solved. In 
like manner a subject well fixed, admits of 
easier treatment, and singularly facilitates the 
discourse. As to the rest, the occasion, the 
circumstances, and the nature of the subject, do 
much in the same direction. There are cases 
in which the subject determines itself by the 
necessity of the situation and the force of 
things. The case is more embarrassing when the 
speaker is master of circumstances, as in teach- 
ing, where he may distribute his materials at his 
pleasure, and design each lesson's part. In any 
case, and howsoever he sets to work, each dis- 
course must have its own unity, and constitute 
a whole, in order that the hearer may embrace 
in his understanding what has been said to him, 
may conceive it in his o^vn fashion, and be able 
to reproduce it at need. 

But the general view of the subject, and 
the formula which gives it precision, are not 
enough; the idea of it, the living idea, the 
parent idea, which is the source of the life in 
a discourse, and without which the words will be 
but a dead letter, must be obtained. 
L 3 



150 THE SUBJECT AND ITS POINT. 

What is this parent idea, and how do we obtain 
it? 

In the physical world, whatever has life 
comes from a germ, and this germ, previously 
contained in another living existence, there 
takes life itself, and on its own account, by the 
process of fecundation. Fecundated, it quits 
its focus ; punctum saliens, it radiates and tends 
to develope itself by reason of the primordial 
life which it bears within it, and of the nurture 
it receives; then by gradual evolution, it ac- 
quires organic form, constituted existence, in- 
dividuahty, and body. 

It is the same in the intellectual world, and 
in all the productions of our mind, and by 
our mind outside of itself, through language 
and discom'se. There are in our under- 
standing germs of mental existences, and 
when they are evoked by a mind which is 
of their own nature, they take life, become 
developed and organised, first in the depth 
of the understanding which is their brooding 
receptacle, and finally passing into the outer 
world by that speech which gives them a 
body, they become incarnate there, so to speak, 
and form Hving productions, instinct ^^ath more 



THE STJBJECT AND ITS POINT. 151 

or less of life by reason of their fecundated 
germ, of the understanding which begets them, 
and of the mind which vivifies them. 

In every discourse, if it have Ufe, there is a 
parent idea or fertile germ, and all the parts of 
the discourse are like the pruicipal organs and 
the members of an animated body. The pro- 
positions, expressions, and words resemble those 
secondary organs which connect the principal^ 
as the nerves, muscles, vessels, tissues, attaching 
them to one another and rendering them co- 
partners in life and death. Then amid this 
animate and organic mass there is the spiiit of 
life, which is in the blood, and is everywhere 
diffused with the blood from the heart, life's 
centre, to the epidermis. So in eloquence, 
there is the spirit of the words, the soul of the 
orator, inspired by the subject, his intelligence 
illumined with mental light, which circulates 
through the whole body of the discourse, and 
pours therein brightness, heat, and life. A 
discourse without a parent idea, is a stream 
without a fountain, a plant without a root, a 
body without a soul ; empty phrases, sounds 
which beat the air, or a tinkling cymbal. 

Nevertheless, let us not be misapprehended ; 

1-4 



162 THE SUBJECT AND IT8 POINT. 

if we say that a discourse requires a parent 
idea, we do not mean that this idea must be a 
new one^ never before conceived or developed 
by any one. Were this so, no more orators 
would be possible, since already, from Solomon's 
day, there has been nothing new under the sun, 
and the cycle of ages continually brings back 
the same things under different forms. 

It is not likely, then, that in our day there 
should be more new ideas than in that of the 
King of Israel ; but ideas, like all the exist- 
ences of this world, are renewed in each age, 
and for each generation. They are reproduced 
under varied forms and with modifications of 
circumstances : " Non nova sed nov5," said Vin- 
cent of Lerins. The same things are differently 
manifested ; and thus they adapt themselves to 
the wants of men, which change with time and 
place. 

For this reason the orator may, and should 
say, ancient things, in substance; but he will 
say them in another manner, corresponding 
with the dispositions of the men of his epoch, 
and he will add the originality of his individual 
conception and expression. 

For this purpose, in all the rigour of the word 



THE SUBJECT AND ITS POINT. 153 

he should conceive his subject, in order to have 
the idea of it ; this idea must be born in him, and 
grow, and be organized in a living manner ; and 
as theVe is no conception without fecundation, 
this mental fecundation must come to him from 
without, either spontaneously, or, at least, in an 
invisible manner, as in the iaspirations and il- 
luminations of genius, — or, what oftener hap- 
pens, by means of the attentive consideration 
of the subject and meditation upon the thoughts 
of others. 

In any case, whatever be the fashion of the 
understanding's fecundation, and from whatever 
quarter light comes to it, — and light is the life 
of the mind, — he must absolutely conceive the 
idea of what he shall say, if he is to say any- 
thing fraught with life, and not new but origi- 
nal, — that is, engendered, born in his mind, and 
bearing the character of it. His thoughts will 
then be proper to him (his own) by virtue of 
their production, and despite their resemblance 
to others, — as children belong to their mother, 
notwithstanding their likeness to all the mem- 
bers of the human race. But they all and 
each possess something new for the family and 
generation in which they are to live, " It is all 



154 THIL f^rB.T-rroT AND ITS POINT. 

we would say when we require of him who has 
to speak in public, that he should have, at least, 
an idea to expound, sprung mentally, if we 
may so say, from his loins, and produced alive 
in the intellectual ^orld by his words, as in the 
physical order a child by its mother. This 
simply means, in the language of common sense, 
that the orator sould have a clear conception 
of what he would say. 



CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 155 



€HAP. X. 

CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. DIEECT 

METHOD. 

How ensure a good conception of your subject ? 
There are two ways or methods ; the one 
direct, which is always the best when you can 
take it ; the other indirect, longer and less 
certain, but more accessible to beginners, more 
within reach of ordinary minds, and serving to 
form them. You may indeed use both ways ; 
either coming back the second way, when you 
have gone out by the first, or beginning with 
the easiest, in ord^r to arrive at the most 
arduous. 

The main way, or that which by preeminence 
ieserves the designation, consists in placing 
/ourself immediately in relation with the object 
about which you have to speak, so as to con- 
sider it face to face, looking clean through it with 
the mind^s eye, while you are yourself irradiated 
with the light which the object gives forth. 



156 OON'CEPTION' OF THE SUBJEOT- 

In this crossing of rays, and by means of 
their interpenetration, a conception, represent- 
ing that object which begets it, is produced in 
the understanding, and partakes of the nature 
of that in which it is formed, and which con- 
tains it. 

In this case a fecundation of the mind, or 
subject, is affected by the object, and the result 
is the idea of the object, begotten and brought 
into a living state in the understanding by its 
own force. This idea is always in the ratio of 
the two factors or causes which combine to call 
it forth, of their relation to each other, and of 
the success with which the union is effected. 

If the mind be simple, im warped, pure, 
greedy of knowledge, and eager after truth, — 
when it places itself before the object fully, 
considers it generally, at the same time that it 
opens itself unreservedly to its light with a wish 
to be penetrated by it, and to penetrate it, to 
become united to it with all its strength and 
capacity; and if, further, it have the energy 
and persistency to maintain itself in this atti- 
tude of attention without distraction, and col- 
lecting all its faculties, concentrating all its 
lights, it makes them converge upon this single 



CONCEPTION OF THE SUB,JECT. 157 

point, and becomes wholly absorbed in the union 
wbich thus ensures intellectual fecundity, the 
conception then takes place after a normal and 
a plenary fashion. The very life of the object, 
or thing contemplated, passes with its light 
into the subject or mind contemplating, and 
from the life-endowed mental germ springs the 
IDEA, at first weak and darkling, like whatever 
is newly-begotten, but growing afterwards by 
the labor of the mind and by nutrition. It 
will become gradually organised, full-grown, 
and complete ; as soon as its constitution is 
strong enough to emerge from the understand- 
ing, it will seek the birth of words, in order to 
unfold to the world the treasures of truth and 
life which it contains within it. 

But if it be only examined obliquely, under 
an incidental or restricted aspect, the result 
will be a conception analogous to the connex- 
ion which produces it, and consequently an 
idea of the object, possessing perhaps some 
truth and some life, but representing the object 
only in one phase, only in part, and thus 
leading to a narrow and inadequate knowledge. 

It is clear that as it is in the physical, so in 
the moral world. Knowledge is formed by the 



158 CONCEPTION" OF THE SUBJECT. 

same laws as existence, the knowledge of 
metaphysical like that of sensible things, al- 
though these differ essentially in their nature 
and in theii' limits. The laws by which life is 
transmitted, are those by which thought is 
transmitted, which is, after its own fashion, 
conceived and generated; a fact arising from 
the application to the production of all living 
beings of the eternal law of the Divine genera- 
tion, by which the Being of beings, the Prin- 
ciple of life. Who is life itself, engenders in 
Himself His image or His Word, by the know- 
ledge which he has eternally of Himself, and 
by the love of His own perfection which he 
contemplates. 

Thus with the human mind, which is made 
in the image of God, and which reproduces a 
likeness of it in all its operations; the know- 
ledge of a human mind is also a sort of genera- 
tion. It has no knowledge of sensible things, 
except through the images which they produce 
in the understanding, and that such images 
should arise, it is requisite that the under- 
standing be penetrated by the unpressions of 
objects, through the senses and their organs. 
Hence appearances, images, ideas, or to speak 



CONCEPTION OF THE SITB.TECT. 169 

more philosopMcally, conceptions of exterior 
things, wMcli are not only the raw material of 
knowledge, but the principles more or less 
pregnant of the sciences of nature, according as 
they may have been formed in the mind. This 
accounts in part for the power of first impres- 
sions, the virtue of the first aspect, or of the 
primary meeting of the " subject " and object. 

Now we have intelligible and spiritual, as 
well as material and sensible existences around 
as. "We live by our mind and by its inter- 
course with that of our fellow creatures in a 
moral world, which is realised and perpetuated 
by speech and in language, as physical existences 
are fixed in the soil, and from the soil developed. 
The language spoken by a human community, 
and constituting the depository, the magazine 
of the thoughts, ideas, and knowledge of that 
community, forms a true world of minds, a 
sphere of intellectual existences, having its own 
life, light, and laws. 

l!Tow it is with these subtile and, as it were, 
ethereal existences, which are condensed in 
words, hke vapour in clouds, — it is with these 
metaphysical realities that our mind must 
come into contact, in order by them to be 



160 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 

fecundated, without other medium than the 
signs which express them, and in order to 
conceive the ideas which science has to develope 
by analysis, and which the speaker will unfold 
in his discourse, so as to bring home their 
truth to those who are ignorant of it. Any- 
body must feel how difficult it is to hold 
communion by the sight of the mind with things 
so delicate, so evanescent, things which cannot 
be seized except by their nebulous and ever 
shifting dress of language ; and how much more 
difficult it is to persist long in this contempla- 
tion, and how soon the intelligence gets fatigued 
of pursuing objects so scarcely tangible, objects 
escaping its grasp on all sides. In truth it is 
only a very rare and choice class of minds which 
know how to look directly, fixedly, and perse- 
veringly at objects of pure intelligibility. For 
the same reason these have greater fecundity, 
because entering into a close union with 
the objects of their thought, and becoming 
thoroughly penetrated by them, they take in 
the very nature and vitality of things, with the 
light which they emit. 

These are the minds, moreover, that con- 
ceive ideas and think for the rest of mankind, 



GONGEPTIOIsr OF THE S¥BJECT. 161 

whose torches and guides they are in the intel- 
lectual world ; and as their words, the vehicle 
of their conceptions and thoughts, are employed 
during instruction iu reproducing, that is, in 
engendering within the nimds of their fellow- 
creatures the ideas which the light of the things 
themselves has produced in their own, they are 
called vnen of genius^ that is, generators by 
intelligence, or transmitters by means of lan- 
guage, of the light and life of the mind. 

This consideration brings us to the second 
way or method by which feebler intellects, or 
such as have talent without having genius, 
may also succeed in conceiving the idea of the 
subject upon which they are about to speak. 



162 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 



CHAP. XI. 

CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. — INDIRECT 
METHOD. 

Those who have to treat a subject which has 
not been treated before, are obliged to draw 
from a consideration of the subject, and from 
their own resources, all they have to say. 
Then, according to their genius and their pe- 
netration, and in proportion to the manner in 
which they put themselves in presence of the 
things, will their discourse evince more or less 
truth, exactitude, and depth. They are sure to 
be original, since they are the first comers, — 
and, m general, the first view, which is not in- 
fluenced by any prejudice or bias, but which 
arises from the natural impression of the object 
upon the soul, produces clear and profound 
ideas, which remain in the kingdom of science 
or of art as common property, and a sort of 
patrimony for those who come later. After- 



CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 163 

wards, when the way is opened, and many 
have trodden it, leaving their traces behind 
them, when a subject has been discussed at 
various times and among several circles, it is 
hard to be original, in the strict sense, upon 
that topic; that is, to have new thoughts — 
thoughts not expressed before. But it is 
both possible and incumbent to have that 
other species of originality, which consists in 
putting forth no ideas except such as one has 
made one's own by a conception of one's own, 
and are thus quickened with the life of one's 
o^vn mind. This is called talcing possession in 
the finder^ s name; and Moliere, when he imi- 
tated Plautus and Terence ; La Fontaine, when 
he borrowed from JEsop and Phsedrus, were 
not ashamed of the practice. This condition 
is indispensable, if life is to be imparted to the 
discourse; and it is this which distinguishes 
the orator, who draws on his own interior re- 
sources even when he borrows, from the actor 
who impersonates, or the reader who recites the 
productions of another. 

In such a case the problem stands there- 
fore thus: — ^When you have to speak on a 
subject already treated by several authors, 



164 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 

you must carefully cull their just est act! most 
striking thoughts, analyse and sift these with 
critical discernment and penetration, then fuse 
them in your own alembic by a powerful syn- 
thetic operation, which, rejecting whatever is 
heterogeneous, collects and kneads whatever 
is homogeneous or amalgamable, and fashions 
forth a complex idea that shall assume consis- 
tency, unity, and colour in the understanding by 
the very heat of the mind's labour. 

If we may compare things spmtual with 
things material, — and we always may, since 
they are governed by the same laws, and hence 
their analogy, — we would say that, in the 
formation of an idea by this method, some- 
thing occurs similar to what is observed in the 
production of the ceramic or modeller's art, 
composed of various elements, earths, salts, 
metals, alkalies, acids, and the rest, which, 
when suitably separated, sifted, purified, are 
first united into one compoimd, then kneaded, 
shaped, moulded, or turned, and finally sub- 
jected to the action of the fire which combines 
them in unity, and gives to the whole solidity 
and splendour. 

Thus, the orator who speaks after many 



COITCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 165 

others, and must treat the same topic, ought 
first to endeavour to make himself acquainted 
with all that has been written on the subject, 
in order to extract from the mass the thoughts 
which best serve his end; he ought then to 
collect and fuse within his own thought the 
lights emitted by other minds, gather and con- 
verge upon a single point the rays of those 
various luminaries. 

He cannot shirk this labour, if he would 
treat his subject with fulness and profundity; 
in a word, if he is in earnest with his business, 
which is to seek truth, and to make it known. 
Like every true artist, he has an intuition of 
the ideal, and to that ideal he is impelled by 
the divine instinct of his intelligence to lift his 
conceptions and his thoughts, in order to pro- 
duce, first in himself and then upon others, by 
speaking or by whatever is his vehicle of ex- 
pression, something which shall for ever tend 
towards it, without ever attaining it. For 
ideas, properly so called, being the very con- 
ceptions of the Supreme Mind, the eternal 
archetypes after which all created things have 
been modelled with all their powers, the human 
mind, made aftei the image of the Creator, 



166 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 

yet always finite, whatever its force or its 
light, can catch but glimpses ol them here 
below, and will always be incapable of conceiv- 
ing and of reproducing them in their immensity 
and infinitude. 

However, care must be taken here not to 
allow oneself to be carried away by too soaring 
a train of considerations, or into too vast a 
field ; all is linked with all, and in things of a 
higher world this is more especially the case, 
for there you are in the realm of sovereign 
unity, and universality. A philosopher, medi- 
tating and writing, may give wings to his con- 
templation, and his flight will never be too 
lofty nor too vigorous, provided his intelli- 
gence be illumined with the true light, and 
guided in the right path ; but the speaker ge- 
nerally stands before an audience who are not 
on his own level, and whom he must take at 
theirs. Again, he speaks in a given state of 
things, with a view to some immediate efiect, 
some definite end. His topic is restricted by 
these conditions, and his manner of treating it 
must be subordinated to them, his discourse 
adapted to them. It is no business of his to 
say all that might be said, but merely what is 



CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 167 

necessary or useful in the actual case, in order 
to enlighten his hearers, and to persuade them. 
He must, therefore, circumscribe his matter 
within the limits of his purpose ; and his dis- 
course must have just that extent, that eleva- 
tion, and discretion which the special circum- 
stances demand. 

It is with this aim that the orator ought to 
prepare his materials, and lay in, as it were, 
the provisions for his discourse. 

First, as we have said, he must collect the 
ingredients of his compost. Then he will do 
what the bee does, which rifles the flowers — 
exactly what the bee does ; for, by an admir- 
able instruct which never misleads it, it ex- 
tracts from the cup of the flowers only what 
serves to form the wax and the honey, the 
aromatic and the oleaginous particles. But, be 
it well observed, the bee first nourishes itself 
with these extracts, digests them, transmutes 
them, and turns them into wax and honey 
solely by an operation of absorption and assimi- 
lation. 

Just so should the speaker do. Before him 
lie the fields of science and of literature, rich 
HI each description of flower and fruit, — every 
m4 



168 CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT 

hue, every flavor. In these fields he will seek 
his booty, but with discernment ; and choosing 
only what suits his work, he "will extract from 
it, by thoughtful reading and by the process of 
mental tasting (his thoughts all absorbed in his 
topic, and darting at once upon whatever re- 
lates to it), everything which can minister nutri- 
ment to his intelhgence, or fill it, or even 
perfume it; in a word, the substantial or aro- 
matic elements of his honey, or idea^ but ever 
so as to take in and to digest, like the bee, in 
order that there may be a real transformation 
and appropriation, and consequently a produc- 
tion fraught with life, and to Hve. 

The way in which he should set to work, 
or at least the way in which we have ourselves 
proceeded under similar circumstances, and 
with good results, is this. 

[We hope we shall be forgiven for these 
details of the mterior^ these private manage- 
ments of an orator : we think them more useful 
to show how to contrive than the didactics of 
teaching would be ; they are the contrivances 
of the craft, secrets of the workshop. Be- 
sides, we are not writing for adepts, but for 
novices ; and these will be better helped by 



CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 169 

practical advice, and by the results of positive 
experience, than by general rules or by specu- 
lations.] 

Above all, then, you must decide with the 
utmost clearness what it is you are going to 
speak upon. Many orators are too vague in 
this; and it is an original vice which makes 
itself felt in their whole labour, and, later, in 
their audience. Nothing is worse than vague- 
ness in a discourse ; it produces obscurity, dif- 
fuseness, rigmarole, and wearisomeness. The 
hearer does not cling to a speaker who talks 
without knowing what he would say, and who, 
undertaking to guide him, seems to be ignorant 
whither he is going. 

The to"pic once well settled, the point to be 
treated once well defined, you know where to 
go for help. You ask for the most approved 
writers on that point; you get together their 
works, and begin to read them with attention, 
pausing, above all, upor the chapters and pas- 
sages which specially concern the matter in 
question. 

Always read pen or pencil in hand. Mark 
the parts which most strike you, those in 
which you perceive the germ of an idea or of 



ITO CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 

anything new to you ; then, when you have 
finished your reading, make a note, let it 
be a substantial note, not a mere transcrip- 
tion or extract — a note embodying the very 
thought which you have apprehended, and 
which you have already made your own by 
digestion and assimilation. 

Above all, let these notes be short and lucid ; 
put them down one under the other, so that 
you may afterwards be able to run over them 
at a single view. 

Mistrust long readings from which you carry 
nothing away. Our mind is naturally so lazy, 
the labour of thought is so irksome to it, that 
it gladly yields to the pleasure of reading other 
people's thoughts, in order to avoid the trouble 
of forming any itself; and then time passes in 
endless readings, the pretext of which is some 
hunt after materials, and which comes to no- 
thing. The mind ruins its own sap, and gets 
burdened with trash': it is as though overladen 
with undigested food, which gives it neither 
force nor light. 

Quit not a book until you have wrested from 
it whatever relates the most closely to your 
subject. Not till then go on to another, and 



CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 171 

get the cream off, if I may so express myself, 
in the same manner. 

Repeat this labour with several, until you find 
that the same things are beginning to return, 
or nearly so, and that there is nothing to gain 
in the plunder; or suppose that you feel your 
understanding to be sufficiently furnished, and 
that your mind now requires to digest the nu- 
triment which it has taken. 

Rest awhile, in order to let the intellectual 
digestion operate. Then, when these various 
aliments begin to be transformed, interpene- 
trated, comes the labour of the desk, which will 
extract from the mass of nourishment its very 
juices, distribute them everywhere, and will 
contribute to form, from diversity of products, 
unity of life. 

It is with the mind as with the body ; after 
nourishment and repose, it requii-es to act and 
to transmit. When it has repaired its strength, 
it must exert it ; when it has received it, it must 
give; after having concentrated itself, it needs 
dilation; it must yield back what it has ab- 
sorbed ; fulness unrelieved is as painful to it aa 
inanition. These are the two vital movements, 
-^attraction and expansion. 



172 CONCEPTION CF THE SUBJECT. 

The moment this fulness is felt, the moment 
of acting or thinking for yourself has arrived. 

You take up your notes and you carefully 
re-read them face to face with the topic to be 
treated. You blot out such as diverge from 
it too much, or are not sufficiently substantial, 
and by this elimination you gradually concen- 
trate and compress the thoughts which have the 
greatest reciprocal bearing. You work these a 
longer or a shorter time in your understanding, 
as in a crucible, by the inner fire of reflection, 
ftnd, in nine cases out of ten, they end by 
amalgamating and fusing into one another, 
until they form a homogeneous mass, which is 
reduced, like the metallic particles in incandes- 
cence, by the persistent hammering of thought^ 
mto a dense and solid oneness. 

As soon as you become conscious of this 
unity, you obtain a glimpse of the essential 
idea of the composition, and in that essential 
idea, the leading ideas which will distribute 
your topic, and which already appear like the 
first organic lineaments of the discourse. 

In the case supposed, the idea forms itself 
synthetically, or by a sort of intellectual coa- 
gulation, which is fraught with life, because 



CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 173 

there is really a crossing or interpenetr ation of 
various thoughts in one single mind, which has 
assimilated them to one another only by first 
assimilating them to itself. They take life in 
its life which unifies them, and although the 
idea be thus compounded of a multiplicity of 
elements, nevertheless as these elements have 
been transformed into that one mind's own 
thought, they become harmonised therein, and 
constitute a new production endowed by the 
understanding in which it is called forth, with 
something individualising and original. 

However, a different result sometimes occurs, 
and this happens particularly in the most stirring 
and fertile intellects. The perusal of other 
men's thoughts, and the meditation thus excited, 
becomes for them not the efiicient cause, but 
the occasion, of the requisite idea, which springs 
into birth by a sudden illumination, in the 
midst of their mental labour over other people's 
ideas, as the spark darts from the flint when 
stricken by steel. 

It is a mixed method between the direct, 
which is that of nature, and the indirect which 
we have been describmg. It partakes of the 
former, because there is in it a kind of genera- 



174: CONCEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. 

tion of the idea which is instantaneously eiFected ; 
but it is a generation less instinct with life, and, 
as it were, at second hand ; for it is not formed 
in the mind by the action of the thmg itself, 
but by its image or reflection in a human ex- 
pression. It partakes of the second method, 
because the birth of the idea is brought about 
by reading and meditation. 

The idea which is its offspring, though infe- 
rior to that engendered by the object itself, is 
more natural, and, therefore, more living than 
that produced by synthesis ; simpler, more one, 
more original ; it is more racy of the mind, 
which has conceived it at one effort, and from 
which it springs full of life, as Minerva in the 
fable sprang full-armed from the head of Jupiter 
cleft by Vulcan's hatchet. Thus it is with 
the orator's understanding, which is suddenly 
opened by a thought that strikes it, and from 
which arises completely organised the idea of 
his topic to become the Minerva or wisdom of 
his discourse. In this case the plan of his com- 
position arranges itself spontaneously. The 
parent idea takes the place of sovereignty at 
once, by right of birth, and all the others 
group themselves around her, and to her subor- 



OONOEPTION OF THE SUBJECT. ITS 

dinate themselves naturally, in order to co- 
operate in better displaying her and doing her 
honour, as bees around the queen bee to work 
under her direction at the common task, or as, 
in revolutions and the emergencies which end 
them, nations instinctively rally about the man 
of Providence, raised up by the Almighty to 
re-establish order, equity, atd peace. 



IT6 FOEMATION OF IDEAS. 



CHAP. xn. 

THE FORMATION AND THE AERANGEMENT 
OP IDEAS. 

The idea is formed either through the fecun- 
dation of the understanding by the object 
which there engenders its image and deposits 
its life, or by the bringing together of various 
elements transformed and made one by the ab- 
sorbing and reflecting operations of the mind ; 
or else by a mixed process which partakes of 
both these, and which we just now described. 

In all three cases, however, at the first 
moment of conception, there is as yet only a 
shapeless and vague product which floats, so to 
say, upon the waters of the imdorstanding, and 
over which broods the spirit of life which has 
mdeed animated it, but v^hich has still to 
develope and to^ eigaaiS3 it-, to fsstiibliiih it in a 
definite state o^' ex\sttuc.^, and to give ii »b 



FORMATION OF IDEAS. 177 

Individuality* by means of words and in the 
discourse. 

It is the germ fecundated in the parent soil, 
but which cannot yet spring forth without 
danger, for want of the necessary organisation 
to live and take its place in the world to which 
it is destined to belong. Therefore, a period of 
incubation and organogenesis is indispensable to 
it under pain of its abortion, and the loss of 
its life. 

This is precisely the speaker's case ; he has 
conceived his idea, and he bears it within the 
entrails of his understanding. He must not 
commit it to the day until it is able to appear 
with the conditions of vitality, that is to say 
before it is organised in all its parts, in order 
that it may properly perform its functions in 
the world which it is to enter; — ^neglect this, 
and you will have an abortive discourse, words 
without life. 

* " ^ local habitation and a nameP There is throughout 
the whole of these passages a striking analogy between the 
thoughts of Sliakspeare, as they are hinted in his brief 
picture of the poet, and those which M. Bautain, applying 
them to the orator, more philosophically analyses and more 
fully developes. 

N 



178 FORMATION OF mEAS. 

Sometimes the idea thus conceived, is de- 
veloped and formed rapidly, and then the plan 
of the discourse arranges itself on a sudden, 
and you throw it upon paper warm with the 
fervour of the conception which has just taken 
place, as the metal in a state of fusion is j^oured 
into the mould, and fills at a single turn all its 
lineaments. It is the case most favourable to 
eloquence, — ^that is, if the idea has been well 
conceived, and if it be fraught with light. 

But in general, one must not be in a hurry 
to form one's plan. In nature, life always 
needs a definite time for self-organization, — 
and it is only ephemeral beings which are 
quickly formed, for they quickly pass away. 
Everything destined to be durable is of slow 
growth, and both the solidity and the strength 
of existing things bear a dii'ect ratio to the 
length of their increase and the matureness of 
their production. 

When, therefore, you have conceived an 
idea, unless it be perfectly clear to you at the 
first glance, be in no haste to throw it into 
shape. Carry it for a time in your mind, as 
the mother carries her offspring, and during 



FOEMATTON OF IDEAS. 1Y9 

this period of gestation (or bearing), by the 
very fact that the germ lives in your under- 
standing, and lives with its life, it will of itself 
tend towards development and completion. By 
means of the spiritual, the mental incubation 
of meditation, it will pass from the egg to the 
embryo, and when sufficiently mature to be 
trusted to the light of day, it will spontaneously 
strive to break from confinement, and to issue 
forth to view ; — ^then comes the moment for 
writing. 

The organic generation of ideas is as impos- 
sible to explain fully as that of bodies. Nature's 
work is mysterious in the one respect as in the 
other ; only there being a part for freewill and 
conscience to play in the intellectual sphere, 
we see a little more clearly in this than in the 
other, and co-operate a little more directly. 

The understanding, in fact, is a spiritual soil 
which has feeling, consciousness, and up to a 
certain point, a knowledge of whatever is 
takmg place in it. We cannct conceive an 
idea without being conscious of it ; for the very 
property of a mental conception is the for- 
mation within us of a new knowledge; and 
s 2 



180 FORMATION OF mEAS. 

thus we are not left, in this respect, as in the 
physical order, to the operation of the blind 
force of nature. The mother of the Maccabees 
said to her children — " I know not how you 
were formed, . . . nor how the life you have re- 
ceived was created;" now, the understanding, 
which is the mother of the ideas engendered 
by it and living in it, has the privilege not 
only of feeling but of seeing theii* formation; 
otherwise it would not be understanding. It 
assists at the development of its ideas, and co- 
operates therein, actively and intelligently, by 
the fmictions of thought and reflection, by 
meditation and mental toil. Such is the dif- 
ference between physical and moral nature, 
between the life of the body and that of the 
mind, between the action of animate matter 
and that of intelligence. 

The thoughts apply themselves to a frequent 
consideration of the idea conceived ; they turn 
it and re-turn it in every direction, look at it in 
all its aspects, place it in all manner of relations ; 
then they penetrate it with their light, scrutinise 
its foundation, and examine its principal parts 
in succession; these- begin to come out, to 



FORMATION OF mEAS. 181 

separate tnemselves from each other, to assume 
sharp outlmes, just as in the bud the first 
rudimentary traces of the flower are discernible ; 
then the other organic lines, appearing one 
after the other, instinct with life, or like the 
confused, first animate form, which little by 
little, declares itself in all the finish of its pro- 
portions. In Hke manner, the idea, in the 
successive stages of its formation, shows itsell 
each day in fuller development to the mind 
which bears it, and which acquires assurance oi 
its progress by persevering meditation. 

There are frequently good ideas which 
perish in a man's understanding, abortively, 
whether for want of nourishment, or from the 
debility of the mind which, through levity, in- 
dolence, or giddiness, fails to devote a sufiicient 
amount of reflection to what it has conceived. 
It is even observable that those who conceive 
with the greatest quickness and facility, brmg 
forth, generally, both in thoughts and in Ian" 
guage, the weakest and the least durable produc- 
tions ; whether it be that they do not take time 
enough to mature what they have conceived, — 
hurried into precocious display by the vivacity 



182 FORMATION OF IDEAS. 

of their feelings and imagination, — or on account 
of the impressionability and activity of their 
minds, which, ever yielding to fresh emotions, 
exhausting themselves in too rapid an alternation 
of revulsions, have not the strength for patient 
meditations, and allow the half-foi-med idea or 
the crude thought, born without life, to escape 
from the understanding. Much, then, is in 
our own power towards the ripening and perfect- 
ing of our ideas. 

Nevertheless, we must acknowledge and 
with humility confess, — even while conceding 
their full share in the result to reason and our 
own voluntary efforts, — a share as undeni- 
able in this case, and perhajDS more undeni- 
able, than in any other — that there is a great 
deal which is not within our power in the 
whole of this operation, and that a man's o^vn 
proper part, or merit, in the matter, is of 
very slight account, compared to the immense 
and gratuitous gifts on which he must rely. 
Who can give to genius, or even to talent, that 
marvellous understanding by which things are 
promptly and lucidly conceived, — that fertile 
and sensitive mirror of ideas which responds to 



FOEMATION OF IDEAS. 183 

the slightest objective impression, and so as- 
tonishingly reproduces all its types ? 

Who can give them that powerful mtelligence, 
whose piercing glance seizes every relation, 
discerns every shade, traverses the whole extent 
of ideas? That glowing imagination which 
invests each conception with brilliant colouring, 
— that unfailing and tenacious memory which 
preserves unimpaired all the features of it, and 
reproduces them at will, either sepa.rately or 
together, to assist the labour of thought and 
meditation ? 

Who can give them that vigorous attention, 
that strong grasp of the mind, Avhich seizes 
with energy and holds with perseverance before 
the eye of the intelligence, the object to be 
considered and sounded; who gives them that 
patience of observation, which is itself a species 
of genius, especially in the study of Nature ? 

All these rich endowments may, indeed, be 
developed by exercise and perfected by art; 
but neither exercise nor art can acquire them. 
And since in the order of intelligence, and of 
science, as in the physical world, we see 
nothing without the light which illumines 
n4 



184 FORMATION OF IDEAS. 

■» 

objects, whence do these select minds get that 
intellectual and immaterial light, which shines 
upon them more abundantly than on others 
and enables them to discern in things and in the 
ideas of things what others see not ? So that, 
according to the magnificent expression of the 
Royal Prophet they see the light in the light. 
Whence the lofty inspirations, the sudden 
flashings of genius, producing in it great and 
new ideas, so deeply and so mightily conceived, 
that they become by their radiation so many 
centres of hght, so many torches of the human 
race ? How is it that, in the presence of natm-e 
or of societj^, they experience such emotions and 
such impressions, that they see and imderstand 
what to others is all darkness and void ? 

We might as well ask why one soil is more 
fruitful than another, why the sun in a given 
climate is brighter, and his light more pure. 
The Almighty dispenses His treasures and His 
favours as He deems best, and this in the 
moral, no less than in the physical world. In 
this dispensation to nations or to individuals, 
He always has in view the manifestation of 
His truth. His power, and His mercy; cond 



FORMATION OF IDEAS. 185 

wherever he kindles a larger share than usual 
of Hght and fire, wherever the magnitude of 
His gifts is specially remarkable, there has he 
chosen organs of His will, witnesses of His 
truth, heralds of His science, representatives of 
His glory, and benefactors of mankind. , 

In this is the true secret of those wonders of 
power, of virtue, and of genius, who appear 
from time to time on earth. It is the Almighty 
who would make Himself known by His 
envoys, or would act by His instruments; and 
the real glory and happiness of both the last, 
where they are intelhgent and free beings, are 
to co-operate with their whole strength and 
their whole will towards the great coming of 
God's kingdom upon earth, and towards the 
fullest possible realisation of His eternal ideas. 

In this respect, the same thmg is true of the 
works of man's mind in science, which is true 
of the acts of his will in the practice of bene- 
ficence. He cannot do a good action without 
wishing it, and he cannot wish it without the 
exercise of his liberty ; but the inspiration of 
good, which induces him to choose it, and gives 
him the strength to accomplish it, comes not 



186 FORMATION OF IDEAS. 

from himself. It is a gratuitous gift from the 
sole Giver of all that is good. It is for this 
reason we are told that, of ourselves, we cannot 
form a good resolution, nor thmk a good 
thought, nor certainly perform a good action; 
•Upd, nevertheless, we will, we choose, we act 
freely, — for we are responsible. In like 
manner, we can effect nothing of ourselves in 
the conception and expression of our ideas. 
We stand in need of the life of our understand- 
ing being perpetually renewed ; of the life or the 
impression of objects, penetrating it more or less 
deeply ; of the light, which fertilises, eng'enders, 
fosters; in fine, of the life which surrounds 
minds and spirits, as well as bodies, — that 
moral atmosphere which calls forth, feeds, and 
developes whatever has motion therein. And 
amid all this, and along with it, is required the 
energetic co-operation of the spirit or mind itself, 
which feels, conceives, thinks, and without 
which nothing humnn can be accomplished. 

Thus, then, in the order of speculation and 
for our mental productions, as in the moral 
order, and for the accomplishment of our ac- 
tions, while maintaining our freewill, while 



FOEMATION OF IDEAS. 187 

exercising to the full, the activity of our intelli- 
gences, which have their own rights, l6t, and 
part, let us lean above all upon Him who has 
ifi Him life itself, who enlightens minds and 
fertilises or enriches them, just as he impresses 
and guides hearts, and Whose virtue, is im- 
parting itself to men, becomes the source of 
perfect gifts, of luminous con ^jeptions, of great 
ideas, as well as of good inspirations, holy 
resolves, and virtuous actions. 



188 AKBANGEMENT OF PLAIT. 



CHAP. XIII. 

ARRAIS^GEMENT OF THE PLAN. 

Everything in nature comes in its own tmie 
and at tlie predetermined instant. The fruit 
drops its seed when it is ripe and fit for 
reproduction, and the child is born when the 
hour has arrived, and when the new beiug is 
sufficiently organised to live. 

It is thus with the mental production which 
the orator bears in his understanding. There 
is a moment when the idea tends to issue forth 
from its obscure retreat, m order to alight in 
the world of day, appear in the face of the sun, 
and there unfold itself. 

Only this much difierence there is, that the 
latter production, being intellectual, depends to 
a certain degree upon the freedom of the 
mind ; that, consequently, the moment of birth 
is not, in it, predestinary or necessary, as in 



AREANGEMENT OF PLAN. 189 

the physical order, and thus the will of the 
author may hasten or delay it often to the injury 
of the production and of its development. Pre- 
mature expression (that is, when you seek to 
reduce to plan an idea which is not ripe, and 
the organisation of which is still vague) may 
lead to a failure, or at least to a disappointing 
off-shoot, incapable of life, or capable of only a 
sickly life— a fate which often befals youthful 
authors too eager to produce. 

But, on the other side, too much delay in the 
composition of the plan, when the idea is ready 
and demands expression, is equally prejudicial 
to the work, which may wither, perish, and be 
even stifled in the understanding, for want of 
that air and light which have become indispens- 
able to its life, and which it can derive only 
from being set in the open day. 

There are men who experience the greatest 
difficulty imaginable in bringing forth their 
thoughts, either from a deficiency of the need- 
ful vigour to put them forward and invest them 
with a suitable form, or from a natural indo- 
lence which is incapable of continued efforts ; 
like those plants which will never pierce the 
soil by their own unaided energy, and for 



190 ARRANGEMENT OF PLAN. 

which the spade must be used at the risk of 
destroying theu' tender shoots. This sluggish- 
ness, or rather incapability of producing when 
the time is come, is a sign of mental feebleness, 
of a species of impotency. It invariably be- 
tokens some signal defect in the intellectual 
constitution, and those who are afflicted with it 
will write little, will write that little with 
difficulty, and will never be able to speak ex- 
temporaneously in public; they will never be 
orators. 

Nevertheless, even in him who is capable of 
becoming one, there is sometimes a certain 
inertness and laziness. "We have naturally a 
horror of labour, and of all kinds the labour of 
thought is the hardest and the most trouble- 
some ; so that frequently, for no other reason 
than to avoid the pain which must be under- 
gone, a person long keeps in his o^vn head an 
idea, already perfectly ripe and requiring only 
to be put forth. He cannot bring himself to 
take up the pen and put his plan into shape ; he 
procrastinates, day after day, under the futile 
pretext of not having read enough, not having 
reflected enough, and that the moment is not 
yet come, and that the work will gain by more 



AJiEANGE:arENT OF PLAN. 191 

prolonged studies. Then, by this unseasonable 
delay, the fruit languishes in the understanding 
from want of nourishment ; falls by degrees 
into atrophy, loses its vital force, and dies 
before it is yet born. Many an excellent idea 
thus perishes in the germ, or is stifled in its 
development by the laziness or the debility of 
the minds which have conceived them, and 
which have been impotent to give them forth. 

The Almighty's gift is lost through man's 
fault. This happens to men otherwise distin- 
guished and gifted with rare qualities, but who 
dread the responsibilities of duty and the pres- 
sure of the circumstances in which they may 
become involved. Under pretext of preserving 
their freedom, but really in order to indulge 
their indolence, they shun the necessity of 
labour, with its demands and its fatigues, and 
thus deprive themselves of the most active 
stimulus of intellectual life. Given up to 
themselves, and fearing every external Influence 
as a bondage, they pass their lives in conceiving 
without ever producing, — ^in reading without 
contributing anything of their own, — in re- 
flecting, or rather in ruminating, without ever 
either writing or speaking publicly. It would 



192 AEEANGEMENT OF PLAN. 

have been happy for such men to have been 
obliged to work for a living ; for, in the spur of 
want their mind would have found a spring 
which it has missed, and the necessity of sub- 
sisting by labour, or positive hunger, would 
have effected in them what the love of truth or 
of glory was not able to accomplish. 

The very best thing for him who has received 
the gift of eloquence, and who could make an 
orator, is, therefore, that he should be compelled 
to become one. The labour of eloquence, and 
the labour of thinking which it jDresupposes, 
cost so much trouble and are so difficult, that 
save some choice characters, impelled by their 
genius or by ambition, notjiing short of some 
downright necessity, physical or moral, is re- 
quisite to drive men to undertake them. 

But if a man is a professor, and must deliver 
his lecture or instructions on some fixed day, 
and at an appointed hour, — or a clergyman, 
and is obliged to mount the prJpit at such or 
such a moment; or a barrister, who has to 
address the court at the time fixed by the 
judges ; or member of some coimcil or delibera- 
tive assembly, under an engagement to speak 

l| in a certain business, then, indeed, a man must 

I 



AJIRAUGEMENT OF PLAIT. 193 

be ready, on pain of failing in his duty, or of 
compromising his position, his reputation. On 
such occasions, an effort is made, laziness is 
shaken off, and a man strives in earnest either 
to fathom the question (and this is never done 
so well as when it is necessary to write or to 
speak thereon), or else to form a clearer notion of 
it, or, in short, to prepare the best exposition of 
it, with a view to producing conviction and 
persuasion. In this respect, we may say in the 
words of the Gospel, '•''Blessed are the poor^ 
Penury or want is the keenest spur of the 
mind and of the will. You are forced to bestir 
yourself and to draw on your inventive re- 
sources, and in youth especially, which is the 
most favourable time for securing instruction 
and acquirements, it is a great happiness to be 
plucked away by necessity from the enticement 
of pleasure, the dissipations of the world, the inac- 
tivity of supineness. There needs nothing short 
of this kind of compulsion, and of the fear which 
it inspires, to recal to reflection, meditation, and 
the persevering exercise of thought, a soul drawn 
outward by all the senses, athirst for enjoyment, 
and carried away by the superabundance of 
life (which at that age is overflowing) into th^ 




.194 AEKANGEMENT OF PLAK. 

external world, there to seek for that nourish- 
ment and happiness which it will not there find. 
Our own entire youth was passed in that violent 
state, that unceasing conflict between the in- 
stinct of nature and the duty of toil. For this 
we know what it costs to achieve the triumph, 
and what most tends to ensure it. 

How ought your plan to be arranged ? 

In order to produce or arrange it well, you 
must take your pen in hand. Writing is a 
whetstone, or flattening engine, which wonder- 
fully stretches ideas, and brings out all their 
malleableness and ductility. 

On some imforeseen occasion you may, with- 
out doubt, after a few moments of reflection, 
array suddenly the plan of your discourse, and 
speak appropriately and eloquently. This pre- 
supposes, in other respects, that you are well 
versed in your subject, and that you have in your 
understanding chains of thought formed by pre- 
vious meditations ; for it is impossible to ex- 
temporise the thoughts, at least during the whole 
of a discourse. 

But if you have time for preparation, never 
undertake to speak without having put on paper 
the frame of what you have to say, the Ihiks 



AEEANGEMENT OF PLAN. 195 

of your ideas ; and this for two reasons : — tlie 
first and weightiest is, that you thus possess 
your subject better, and accordingly you speak 
more closely and with less risk of digressions. 
The second is, that when you write doA\^n a 
thought you analyse it. The division of the 
subject becomes clear, becomes determinate, 
and a crowd of things which were not before 
perceived present themselves under the pen. 

Speaking is thinking aloud, but it is more; 
it is thinking with method and more distinctly, 
so that in uttering your idea you not only make 
others understand it, but you understand it 
better yourself while spreading . it out before 
your own eyes and unfolding it by words. 

"Writing adds more still to speech, giving it 
more precision^ more fixity, more strictness, and 
by being forced more closely to examine what 
you wish to write down you extract hidden 
relations, you reach greater depths, wherein 
may be disclosed rich veins or abundant lodes. 

We are able to declare that one is never fiiUy 
conscious of all that is in one's own thought, 
except after having written it out. So long as 
it remains shut up in the inside of the mind, it 
preserves a certain haziness; one does not see 
02 



196 ARRANGEMENT OF PLAN. 

it completely unfolded; and 3ne cannot con- 
sider it on all sides, in each of its facets, in 
each of its bearings. 

Again, while it merely flies through the air 
m words, it retains something vague, mobile, 
and indefinite. Its outlines are loosely drawn, 
its shape is uncertain, the expression of it is more 
or less precarious, and there is always some- 
thing to be added or withdrawn. It is never 
more than a sketch. Style only gives to thought 
its just expression, its finished form, and perfect 
manifestation. 

Nevertheless, beware of introducing style 
into the arrangement of your plan ; it ought to 
be like an artist's draught, the sketch, which, 
by a few lines unintelligible to everybody save 
him who has traced them, decides what is to 
enter into the composition of the picture, 
and each object's place. Light and shadow, 
colouring and expression will come later. Or, 
to take another image, the plan is a skeleton, 
'ihe dry bone-frame of the body, repulsive to all 
except the adept in anatomy, but full of 
interest, of meaning, and of significance for 
him Avho has studied it and who has practised 
dissection; for thei-e is not a cailDage, a pro- 



AJBRANGEMENT OF PLAl^-. 197 

tuberance, or a hollow, which does not mai-k 
what that structure ought to sustain, — - and 
therefore you have here the whole body in 
epitome, the entire organisation in miniature. 

Hence, the moment you "^el that your idea 
is mature, and that you are master of it in its 
centre and in its radiations, its main or trunk 
lines, take the pen and throw upon paper what 
you see, what you conceive in your mind. If 
you are young or a novice, allow the pen to 
have its way and the current of thought to flow 
on. There is always life in this first rush, and 
care should be taken not to check its impetus 
or cool its ardour. Let the volcanic lava run ; it 
will become fixed and crystalline of itself. 

Make your plan at the first heat, if you be 
impelled to do so, and follow your inspiration 
to the end; after which let things alone for a 
few days, or at least for several hours. Then 
re-read attentively what you have written, and 
give a new form to your plan ; that is, re-write 
it from one end to the other, leaving only what 
is necessary, what is essential. Eliminate in* 
exorably whatever is accessory or superfluous, 
and trace, engrave with care the leading cha- 
racteristics which determine the configuration 
08 



Il 



ji 



198 AERANGEMENT OF PLAN. 

of the discourse, and contain within their de- 
marcations the parts Avhich are to compass it. 
Only take pains to have the principal features 
well marked, vividly brought out, and strongly 
connected together, in order that the division 
of the discourse may be clear and the links 
firmly welded. 



CHAEACTEE OF THE PLAN. 199 



CHAP. XIY. 

CHAEACTEK OF THE PLAN. 

The essential properties of the plan are deriv- 
able fi-'om its very nature. As it is tlie design 
of the oratorical building, it ought to be di-awn 
with neatness, distributed suitably into its com- 
partments, in right proportions, so that at one 
glance, the architect or any sensible person 
versed in this kind of work, should perceive 
the aim of the construction or the idea to be 
realised, as well as the means for attaining it. 
The plan is a failure if it does not suggest to the 
understanding observer these things. 

First. — The dra^^dng depends on the mind, 
which conceives and thinks, and on the hand, 
which T^ields the pencil. A design mil always 
bear a sure ratio to the manner of feeling, con- 
ceiving, and reproducing what is seen in nature 
or what is imagined, and whatever may be the 
dexterity of the hand, if the soul animate it not, 
04 



200 CHARACTER OF THE PLAN. 

if the understanding guide it not, it will com- 
pose nothing but images without life, and copies, 
exact possibly, yet void of expression. By the 
simplest touch, by one stroke of the brush, the 
whole soul may be revealed ; witness that great 
painter who recognised his equal from a single 
line traced by him. 

Now what advice can we give on this head ? 
All the precepts in the world will never teach 
feeling or conception. We have said pretty 
nearly all that can be said, when speaking of 
the conception and formation of ideas. But 
what may indeed be recommended to the inex- 
perienced orator is to confine himself in con- 
structing his plan to the salient features of his 
subject, to lay down boldly the trunk lines of 
the discourse, omitting all filling up; to draw 
broadly, with hatchet-strokes, so to say, and not 
to set about punctuating, not to get lost in 
minutise, when the business is to mark out the 
main ways. 

Another advice which may be given is, to 
leave nothing obscure, doubtful, or vague in 
these outlines, and to admit no feature into his 
sketch which does not indicate something of 
importance. By practice and the directions of 



CHAUACTEE OF THE PLAN. 201 

a skilful master, he will learn to deal in those 
potent penclllings which express so much in so 
small a space ; and this it is which makes ex- 
temporisation so easy and so copious, because 
each point of the plan becomes instinct with 
life, and by pressing upon it as you pass along 
your discourse makes it a spring gushing with 
luminous ideas and inexhaustible expressions. 

The first etchings of the great masters are 
sometimes more precious in the artist's eye 
than their finished pictures, because they dis- 
close the author's thoughts more unveiled, and 
the means he has adopted for conveying them. 
And in hke manner the young writer will 
profitably study the plans of great speakers, in 
order to learn how to model as they did; and 
what will be still more improving, he will con- 
struct those plans himself from their discom'ses, 
and by a deep meditation of then* masterpieces 
and the intellectual labour which the construc- 
tion just hinted demands, he will get further 
into their innermost thoughts, and will better 
appreciate the relation between those thoughts 
and the magnificent embodiment of them. 

Secondly. — The right distribution of your 
plan depends also on your manner ci conceivii^ 



202 CHAKACTER OF THE PLAN. 

your subject and the end you have m view in 
your discourse ; nor have general rules much 
practical range even here. What is required 
are, good sense, sagacity and tact ; good sense 
to see things as they are, in their true light, or 
in their most favourable aspect, so as not to 6ay 
what will not befit the occasion; sagacity, to 
turn the subject over, penetrate it through, 
analyse it, anatomise it, and exhibit it, first on 
paper, then in speaking ; tact, to speak appro- 
priately, leave in the shade whatever cannot 
appear without disadvantage, and bring out into 
strong light whatever is most in your fiivour; 
to put everything in its own place, and to do all 
this quickly, with neatness, clearness, simplicity, 
so that in the very knot of the statement of the 
case may be discerned all the folds and coils of 
the main idea about to be untied and laid forth 
by the discourse. 

An Hi-conceived, an ill-divided plan, which 
does not at once land the hearer right in 
the middle of the subject and in full posses- 
sion of the matter, is rather an encumbrance 
than a help. It is a rickety scaffoldmg which 
will bear nothing. It but loads and disfigures 
the building instead of serving to raise -t. 



CHAEACTEE OF THE PLAN 203 

Thirdly. — Proportion and harmony in its 
parts contribute to the beauty of a discourse. 
En all things beauty is the result of variety in 
unity and of unity in variety. It is the neces- 
sity of oneness which assigns to each part its 
rank, place, and dimensions. 

Frequently the exordium is too long, and 
the peroration interminable. There is little or 
nothing left for the middle; and you get a 
monster with an enormous head, a measureless 
tail, and a diminutive body. At other times 
it is some limb of the discourse which is 
lengthened until the body of the work is out 
of sight, the result being a shocking deformity, 
as when a man has long arms or legs with a 
dwarf's body. The main idea ought to come 
out in each part; the hearer ought to be 
always led back to it by the development of 
the accessory thoughts, however numerous, 
these having no regular vitality save by the 
sustained circulation through them of the 
foi-mer. Should they grow and dilate too 
much, it can only be at the cost of the parent- 
idea; and they must produce deformity and a. 
sort of disease in the discourse, like those mon- 
strous excrescences which devour the animal as 



204: CHARACTER OF THE PLAN. 

when there is any irregular or excessive growth 
of one organ, through the ahnomaal congestion 
of the blood, thus withdrawn from the rest of 
the organisation. 

It is chiefly when you have to extemporise 
that you must take the most care of your di- 
vision, and of the nice allotment of all the 
parts of your plan ; one of the disadvantages 
of extemporisation, and perhaps the greatest 
disadvantage being, diffuseness, slo^mess, and 
digressiveness, when you trust to the inspiratiop 
of the moment, excitement of speaking, — foi 
you cannot always command the result amidst 
the mass of words and the distractions of the 
imagination. 

You will obviate this danger, as far as may 
be, by strongly determining beforehand the 
proportion of the various parts ; and this so 
clearly and so strikingly as never to lose sight 
of it while speaking, and thus to be constantly 
recalled to it, and to recall the hearer athwart 
the digressions, episodes, or sudden develop- 
ments which may present themselves, and which 
are not always to be excluded ; nay, sometimes 
amidst the emotions of sensibility or the trans- 



CHARACTER OF THE PLAN. 205 

ports of passion, into whicli by the torrent of 
extemporisation the orator may be hurried. 

Let the plan of the speech, then, be traced 
with a firm hand, distributed with exactitude, 
and rightly proportioned in all its members, 
and then it will be an immense help to the 
speaker whom the suddenness and adventu- 
rousness of extemporisation invariably agitates 
more or less. He will then abandon himself 
with greater confidence to his inspirations and 
to the tide of words, when he feels a solid 
ground well known to him beneath his feet ; 
and is aware of all its advantages and incon- 
veniences, if he remain always mindful of the 
end he has in view and of the way which leads 
to it. 



20b PEEPAEATION. 



CHAP. XV. 

FINAL PEEPARATION BEFOEE SPEAKING. 

The plan of a discourse, however well put 
together, is still but a barren letter, or, as we 
have said, a species of skeleton to which flesh 
and vitality must be given by words. It is the 
discourse potentially, and has to become such 
actually. IRow before passing from the power 
of acting to action, and with a view to efi*ecting 
this passage, which at the very moment of 
executing it is always difficult, there is a last 
preparation not without its importance and 
calculated to conduce largely towards success. 
Thus the soldier gets ready his weapons and 
his resolution before the fight ; thus the general 
makes his concluding arrangements after having 
fixed on his order of battle, and in order to 
carry it well into efiect. So it is with the 
speaker at that supreme instant. After haviDg 
fixed his ideas upon paper in a clearly defined 



PREPAEATION. 207 

tkb^ch wliich is to liim a plan of the campaign, 
he ought, a little while before entering the lists 
or battle field, to recollect himself once more 
in order to gather up all his energies, call forth 
all the powers of his soul, mind, and body for 
the work which he has undertaken, and hold 
them in the spring and dii-ection whither 
they have to rush. This is the culmmating 
point of the preparation, a critical moment 
which is very agitating and very painful to 
whoever is about to speak. "We shall proceed 
to depict it, and to show what may then be 
done towards the success of a discourse, by the 
use of the speaker's entire means, that is, of all 
his intellectual, moral, and physical faculties. 
For the true orator speaks with his entire j)er- 
sonality, with all the powers of his being, and 
for that reason, at the moment just preceding 
his address, he should summon, and marshal, 
and concentrate all his instruments. 



208 FINAL PEEPAEATION. 



CHAP. XVI. 

FINAL INTELLECTUAL PEEPAEATION. 

The plan is written down, but it is outside the 
mind, it is on paper ; and although it has issued 
from the mind, still the linking of ideas is a 
thing so subtile that it easily escapes, and es- 
pecially in the midst of the turmoil in which 
the speaker must take his stand, and which is 
liable to present a thousand distracting contin- 
gencies. An hour, therefore, or half an hour, 
or a quarter of an honr before spenking, he 
ought at the last moment to go over his plan 
again silently, review all its parts with their 
connexion, settle, in the most definite manner 
the main ideas and the order in which they 
occur ; in a word, deeply inscribe or engrave 
in his imagination what is written on the paper, 
so as to be able to read within himself, in his 
own understanding, and this with certainty and 
without effort, the signs of what he has to say. 



FINAL PREPARATION. 209 

Tliis is, as it were, the internal proof-copy of 
the external manuscript, in order that, without 
the help of notes, he may find the whole array 
of his ideas upon the living tablets of his ima- 
gination. For this purpose, he sums up that 
array once again, and epitomises it in a few woi'ds 
which perform the office at once of colours and 
of sign-posts — colours around which are mus- 
tered fragmentary or incidental thoughts, like 
soldiers around their officer, and sign-posts 
indicating the road to be followed in order to 
reach the destination without fail. Finally, by 
one supreme exertion of thought, he connects 
all these signs together in order to take in them 
all at a single glance in their respective places 
and their mutual bearings, with a view to the 
end which the discourse is intended to attain ; 
just as a general acts, who, as the fight begins, 
looks from some height upon the ordering of 
his army and sees each division and regiment 
where he had appointed them to be. Then, 
after havmg possessed himself of the whole by 
means of this glance, he holds it as it were in 
his grasp and can hurl it into action according 
to the plan which he has conceived. It is easj 
to understand that in order to be able to do 
P 



210 FINAL PREPARATION. 

this, the plan must net only have been well 
conceived and well ordered, but clearly written 
out on paper, so that, at a moment of such 
pressure, a single glance may suffice to review 
both as a whole and in its parts. 

In general, the shortest are the best plans, 
if they be well filled and loaded idth ideas ; 
and whenever it is practicable to reduce all the 
ideas to one, the various consequences of which 
are thus derivatively commanded, nothing can 
be so convenient or so sure. 

This accounts for the fact that one may 
sometimes speak wonderfully well without so 
much preparation, and produce a very great 
effect. All that is required is one idea, of which 
the speaker is deeply convinced and the conse- 
quences and applications of which he cle?.rly 
discerns, or else some lively and heart-stirring 
sentiment ; and then the light of the idea or 
the emotion of the feeling bursts forth into words 
like the pent-up torrent of a reservoir through 
a fissure in the dam ; but the water-shed must 
have been full, and the plenteousness of the 
inundation supposes protracted toil for the 
previous collection. It is thus with the most 
prompt and copious extemporisations ; they are 



I 



FINAL PEEPAEATION. 211 

invariably the reservoir of ideas and feelings, 
prepared and accumulated with time, and rush- 
ing forth in a discourse. 

In all cases, what is of the first importance 
is to see all the ideas in a single idea, in order 
to keep up the unity of the subject, amidst 
variety of exposition and the multiplicity of 
representations; for in this consists the fine 
ordering of a speech. Once sure of the leading 
idea, the divisions and sub -divisions must be 
rapidly inspected. You must proceed from 
one to the other reflectively in order to test 
what they will be worth at the decisive instant, 
and to penetrate them by a last glance of the 
mind, — a glance which is never more vigorous 
or more piercing than at that important moment. 
You must act like the general who passes among 
the ranks before the signal is giA^en, and who 
assures himself by the mien of his troops that 
they will behave well, while he excites their 
courage by words of fire, and pours fresh spirit 
and boldness into their hearts. He too has his 
picked troops on whom he relies more than on 
the rest, and these picked troops are to act at 
the crisis of the fight. He keeps them in re- 
serve to decide the victory, and he is aware 
p2 



212 FINAL PKEPAEATION. 

befbrehand of all the power with which they 
furnish him. 

So, among the various thoughts which make 
up a discourse; and in their array, there are 
some better calculated than the others to strike 
the imagination and to move the soul: some 
stirring picture, some unusually interesting 
narrative, some convincing proof, some motive 
which will carry away the hearer's decision ; 
and the like. The orator, during his final 
preparation, distinguishes and places in reserve 
these resources. He arranges them appropri- 
ately so as to bring them in at such a part of 
his discourse ; and without fully fathoming 
them before it is time, he keeps them under his 
eye, well knowing that here are wells of living 
water which shall gush forth when he desires 
it, at a touch of the sounding rod. Upon such 
means the success of a speech generally turns, 
as the winning of a battle upon a charge 
opportunely made. 

Only care must be taken not to confound 
these reserves of idea^ these well husbanded 
resources, with what are called hits of eloquence 
or effective phrases. These last devices which 
sometimes fling a brilliant radiance over a speech 



FINAL PREPARATION. 213 

hj Sb semblance of originality, by eccentric 
perceptions, by far-fetched approximations, and 
above all by strangeness of expression, run the 
risk almost invariably of sacrificing sense to 
sound, substance to foriP and of superseding 
depth of thought and warmm of feeling by sound 
of words and an exaggerated oratorical dehvery. 
You get to aim at effect, that is, at astonishing 
your hearers and making them admire you; 
you therefore use every means of dazzling and 
confounding them, which is nearly always done 
at the expense of your subject's truthfulness and 
of your own dignity. Besides, as you cannot 
extemporise these effective phrases, because the 
effect depends on a certain combination of 
words very difficult to arrange and spoilt if a 
single word be amiss, you have to compose 
^hese phrases beforehand, learn them by heart 
and know them literally; and even then you 
liave still to get them into your discourse and to 
prepare their admission, in order that they may 
make a brilliant appearance and produce the 
wished-for effect. The consequence is that 
you convey them from a greater or a smaller dis- 
tance with more or less artifice and disguise, so 
that a part of the exposition is devoted to ^ lear- 



214 FIKAL PEEPAEATION. 

ing the way for them, and to mar^hallijig their 
entry on the boards — a process which neces- 
sarily entails fillings-np, gaps, and lengthiness 
of various passages respectively. And, indeed, 
these brilliant hits which discharge a great 
amount of sparks, and a small amount of 
either light or heat, are for the most part 
purchased at the price of the truthfulness as 
well as the interest of the discourse. It is a 
fire-work display which dazzles and charms for 
a moment, only to plunge you in thick dark- 
ness again. 

This is not a genuine nor moving eloquence ; 
it is the parody of eloquence and a mere parade 
of words; if I may dare to say so, a sort of 
oratorical charlatanry. Woe to the speaker 
who makes use of such means! He will 
speedily exhaust hunself by the mental efforts 
to find out new effects, and his addresses, 
aiming at the subhme and the extraordinary, 
will become often ludicrous, always impotent. 

Nor must you rely on the notes which you 
may carry in your hand to help you in the 
exposition and save you from breaking do^\^7. 
Doubtless, they may have their utility, ospeci- 
aily in business speaking, as at the bar, at the 



FmAL PREPAEATION. 215 

council board, or in a deliberative assembly. 
Sometimes tbey are even necessary to re- 
member facts or to state figm-es. They are 
the material part, the baggage of the orator, 
and he should lighten them and disencumber 
himself of theh- burden, to the utmost of his 
power. In truth, on the very occasions when 
it should seem you would have most need of 
them, they are totally worthless. In the most 
fervid moments of extemporaneous sjpeaking, 
when light teems, and the sacred fire burns, 
when the mind is hurried along upon the tide 
of thoughts, and the tongue, obedient, to its im- 
pulse, accommodates itself in a wonderful man- 
ner to its operations and lavishes the treasures 
of expression, everything should proceed from 
within. The mind's glance is bent inwards, 
absorbed by the subject and its ideas; you 
distinguish none of the external objects, and 
you can no longer even read your notes on the 
paper. You see the lines ^vithout under- 
standing them, and they become an embarrass- 
ment instead of a help. Nothing so thoroughly 
freezes the oratorical flow as to consult those 
wretched notes. Nothing is so inimical to the 
prestige of eloquence; it forthwith brings 
p4 



216 FINAL f>EEPAEATION. 

doTSTi to the common earth both the speaker 
and his audience. 

Try then, when you have to speak, to carry 
all things in yourself, like Bias the philosopher, 
and after having, to the best of your ability, 
conscientiously prepared, allow yourself, filled 
with your subject, to be borne along by the 
current of your ideas and the tide of words, 
and above all by the Spirit from on High who 
enlightens and insj^ires. He who cannot speak 
except with notes, knows not how to speak, 
and knows not even what speaking is; just as 
the man of lore who is so only with his books 
around him, is not so truly, and knows not even 
what learning is. 

In fine, you must distrust all methods of 
mnemonics or artificial memory, intended to 
localise and to fagot together in your imagina- 
tion the diflferent parts of your address. Cicero 
and Quintilian recommend them, I think, in 
moderation ; be it so, but let it be in the 
strictest possible moderation. For it is putting 
the mechanism of form in the stead of the or- 
ganisation of thoughts, — substituting arbitrary 
and conventional links for the natural associa- 
tion of ideas ; at the very least, it is introducing 



FINAL PEEPAEATION. 217 

into the head an apparatus of signs, forms, or 
images which are to serve as a support to the 
discourse, and which must needs burden, ob- 
scure, and hamper the march of it. 

If your address be the expression of an idea 
fraught with life, it will develope itself natu- 
rally, as plants germinate, as animals grow, 
through the sustained action of a vital force, by 
an incessant organic operation, by the effusion 
of a Kving principle. It ought to issue from 
the depths of the soul, as the stream from its 
spring — ex ahundantia cordis os loquitur, " out 
of the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh." 

But a heart there must be ; and in that 
heart a fulness of feeling, manifesting itself by 
a plenitude of ideas, which will give in its 
turn plenitude of expression. The mouth 
speaks with ease when the heart is full ; but if 
it is empty, the head takes its office, and it is 
the head which has recourse to these artificial 
means, for want of the inspiration which fails 
it. It is the resource of rhetoricians. 



218 FmAL PKEPARATION. 



CHAP. xvn. 

FINAL MORAL PKEPAEATION, 

When you at last are in possession of your 
plan, and have engraved it upon your under- 
standing, in the manner we have just said, you 
must try to remain calm and collected. This 
is not always so easy, on account of the place 
where you have to speak, at the bar, for in- 
stance, or in a public scene, or a deliberative 
assembly. You are not in such cases free to 
choose your own moment, and you have to be 
ready for the occasion. You may have to wait 
long for your turn, and till then there occur un- 
avoidable distractions, from which you must 
keep yourself safe. If the will reject them, the 
mind remains self-possessed, and may even pre- 
serve its collectedness amidst the most varied 
scenes, which indeed may touch the senses, 
without disturbing the mind. 



FINAL PKEPAEATIOIT. 219 

But if you have it in your power to remain 
in solitude until the moment for s]3 Baking, as 
generally happens to the preacher and the 
lecturer, it is well to avoid all external excite- 
ment which might change the current of the 
thoughts, and drive your attention into an 
other channel. You should then take refuge 
within the depth of yourself, as in a sanctuary 
where the Almighty has designed to manifest 
Himself since your object in speaking is but 
to announce the truth, and the Almighty is 
Truth itself. 

I do not speak here of those men who dis- 
course solely in the interests of passion or of 
party, and whose object is not the triumph of 
what is true, but merely the gain of some 
success, some advantage, conducive to their 
ambition, their pride, or their avarice. These 
men will never be orators in the proper sense of 
the word — vir bonus dicendi peritus ; for lan- 
guage ought not to be used except in the 
interests of truth — ^to employ it for any other 
end is to make of it a commodity or a traffic. 

If in the stage which we are depicting, the 
soul of him who is about to speak be liable to 
feel variously affected, according to the variety 



220 FINAL PKEPAEATION. 

of character, predisposition, and momentary 
state, sometimes, after the final preparation is 
over, it perceives that it possesses its subject, 
that it is master of it, so far as this may be, 
and it then experiences a certain sense of 
security which is not Tvdthout sweetness. A 
mind in this state need think no more of any- 
thing, but may remain passive and repose 
itself ere proceeding to action. It has some- 
times happened to myself to fall asleep while 
awaiting the summons to the pulpit, to lose 
consciousness, at least, and to awake refreshed. 

At other times, and indeed more frequently, 
a man is restless and agitated. The chest is 
weighted with a heavy burden which checks 
the breathing, makes the limbs sore, and op- 
presses all the faculties of mind and body. 
This is an extremely painful state, especially 
if a man has to speak on a grave occasion, on a 
solemn day, and in the Christian pulpit. One 
is conscious then that there is a divine duty to 
be discharged, and there is a fear of proving 
unfaithful or unequal to it; one feels the full 
weight of responsibility before God. It is a 
truly agonising sensation, in which several 
feelings are blended, and which it may not be 



FINAL PREPARATION-. 221 

useless to analyse, in order to distingmsh what 
it comprises that is legitimate, that is advan- 
tageous to an orator, and, on the contrary, 
what is amiss in it and liable to do him harm. 

In the first place, it is to be noted that this 
fright, experienced by him who is on the point 
of speaking, is salutary, at least to a certain 
extent. It is evident that if it goes to the 
length of paralysing the orator, or of impairing 
the use of his means, it is inconvenient and 
fatal. But those whom it is able thus to crush, 
will never be capable of speaking in public, 
as we have already observed in the case of two 
celebrated writers, admirable for their style 
and powerless in harangue. 

Woe to him who experiences no fear before 
speaking in public ! It shows him to be un- 
conscious of the importance of the function 
which he is about to discharge, — that he does 
not understand what truth is, whose apostle he 
himself should be, or that he little cares, and 
that he is not animated by that sacred fire 
which comes down from heaven to burn in the 
soul. I except altogether the Prophets, the 
Apostles of Jesus Christ, all who speak under 
supernatural inspiration, and who have beeo 



222 rmAL pkepaeation. 

told that they must not prepare what they shall 
say when they shall stand before the poAverful 
and the arbiters of the world, for that all they 
should say shall be given to them at the time 
itself. 

It is not for men like these that we write. 
The Almighty, whose instruments they are, 
and who fills them with His Spirit, makes them 
act and speak as He pleases, and to them the 
resources of human experience are entirely un- 
necessary. They never are afraid, because 
He who is truth and light is with them, and 
speaks by them. But others are not afraid 
because their enlightenment is small and their 
self-assurance great. They are unconscious of 
the sacredness of their task and of their min- 
istry, and they go forward like children who, 
knowing not what they do, play with some ter- 
rible weapon, and with danger itself. The 
most valiant troops always feel some emotion at 
the first cannon shot, and I have heard it stated 
that one of the most celebrated generals of the 
empire, — who was even called " the bravest of 
the brave," was always obliged to dismount 
from his horse at that solemn moment; after 
which he rushed like a lion mto the battle. 



FINAL PREPARATION. 

Braggarts, on the contrary, are full of assur- 
ance before the engagement, and give way 
during the action. 

So is it with those fine talkers, who think 
themselves competent to undertake any subject 
and to face any audience, and who, in the ex- 
cellent opinion which they entertain of them- 
selves, do not even think of making any serious 
preparation. After a few phrases uttered with 
confidence, they hesitate, they break down, or 
if they have sufficient audacity to push forward 
amidst the confusion of their thoughts and the 
incoherency of their discourse, they twaddle 
without understanding their own words, and 
drench their audience with their inexhaustible 
volubility. 

It is well then to feel somewhat afraid ere 
speaking, first in order that you may not lightly 
expose yourself to the trial, and that you may 
be spared the mortification ; and, in the second 
place, still more particularly, if you are obliged 
to speak, in order that you may maturely con- 
sider what you should say, seriously study your 
subject, penetrate it, become master of it, and 
thus be able to speak usefully to a public 
audience 



224: FINAi PREPAitATION. 

The fear in question is also useful in making 
the sj^eaker feel his want of help from above, 
such as shall give him the adequate light, 
strength, and vividness of life. All men who 
have experience in public speaking, and who 
have ever themselves been eloquent, know how 
much they have owed to the inspiration of the 
moment, and to that mysterious power which 
gives it. It is precisely because a man may 
have sometimes received this efficacy from 
above, rendering him supeiior to himself, that 
he dreads being reduced to his own strength in 
that critical situation, and so to prove beneath 
the task which he has to accomphsh. 

This fear which agitates the soul of a person 
about to speak, has also another and a less 
noble cause, which unfortunately prevails in 
the majority of instances; that is, self-love, — 
vanity, which dreads falling below oneself and 
below the expectations of men, — a desire of 
success and of applause. Public speaking is a 
singularly conspicuous sort of thing, exposing 
a person to all manner of observations. Doubt- 
less there is no harm in seeking the esteem of 
one's fellows, and the love of a good reputation 
is an honourable motive of action, capable of 



FINAI. PEEPAEATTON. 

producing excellent effects. But carried too 
fer, it becomes a love of glory, a passion to 
make a dazzling appearance, and to cause one- 
self to become the theme of talk, — and tben, 
like all other passions, it is ready to sacrifice 
truth, justice, and good to its own gratification 
or success. 

Nothing can be better than that the orator 
should endeavour to please and satisfy his 
audience; that desire will impel him to noble 
exertions and the exercise of all his means ; but 
that, while actually speaking, such an end 
should engross him above everything else, and 
that the care of his own glory should agitate 
him more than any love of the truths which he 
has to announce, or of the souls of the hearers 
whom he should enlighten and edrfy, — this, I 
say, is a gross abuse, a perversion of the 
talent and of the ministry intrusted to him by 
Providence, and sooner or later will bring him 
to grief This inordinate attention to himself 
and his success agitates, disturbs, and makes 
him unhappy, — too often inciting him to ex- 
aggerations for the sake of effect. In taking 
from him simplicity it takes his right sense, his 
Q 



226 FrNAL PREPARATION. 

tact, his good taste, and he becomes displeasing 
by dint of striving to please. 

Yet far from us be the idea of condemning a 
love of glory in the orator, and especially in the 
lay orator. While still young a man needs 
this spur, vrhich sometimes produces prodigies 
of talent and of labour ; and it may safely be 
affirmed that a very great progress must have 
been made in wisdom and perfection to dispense 
with it altogether. Even where it ought to 
have the least influence, it still too often has 
sway, and the minister of the holy Word, who 
ought to be inspired by the Spirit from on High, 
and to refer exclusively to God all that he may 
do, has much difficulty in preserving himself 
indifferent to the praises of men, seeking these 
praises only too often, and thus making self, 
almost unconsciously, the end of his speaking 
and of his success. In such a case the move- 
ments of nature and of grace get mingled in 
nis heart, and it is hard to distinguish and 
separate them. This is the reason why so 
many deceive themselves, and why piety itself 
\ias its illusions. 

If it is good to entertain some fear before 
speaking, it would nevertheless be prejudicial 



FINAIi PEEPARATIOIT. 



227 



to entertain too much : first, because a great 
fear disturbs the power of expression ; and 
secondly, because if it does not proceed from 
timidity of character, it often springs from ex- 
cessive self-love, from too violent an attachment 
to praise, or from the passion of glory, which 
overcomes the love of truth. Here is that 
which one should try to combat and to abate m 
oneself. The real orator should have but what 
is true in view ; he should blot himc elf out in 
presence of the truth and make it alone appear, 
— as happens naturally, spontaneously, when- 
ever he is profoundly impressed by it, and iden- 
tifies himself with it, heart and mind. Then 
he grows hke it, great, mighty, and dazzling. 
It is no longer he who hves, it is the truth 
which in him lives and acts ; his language is 
truly inspired; the man vanishes in the virtue 
of the Almighty who manifests himself by His 
organ, — and this is the speaker's noblest, his 
true glory. Then are wrought the miracles of 
eloquence which turn men's wills and change 
their souls. Such is the end at which the 
Christian orator should aim. He should try to 
dwarf himself, to annihilate himself, as it were, 
in his discourse, in order to allow Him whose 
q2 



228 FINAL PREPAItATION. 

minister he is, to speak and to work, — a result 
oftenest attained when the speaker thinks he 
has done nothing, on account of his too fervent 
and too natural desire to do a great deal. 

Oh, you who have taken the Lord for your 
inheritance, and who prefer the light and ser- 
vice of Heaven to all the honours and all the 
works of earth, — you, particularly, who are 
called to the Apostleship, and who glow with 
the desire to announce to men the word of God! 
remember that here, more than anywhere else, 
virtue consists in disinterestedness, and power 
in abnegation of self. Endeavor to see in the 
triumphs of eloquence, if they be granted you 
one thing only, — the glory of God. If you 
have the gift of touching the souls of others, 
seek one thing only, — to bring them, or bring 
them back, to God. For this end repress, stifle 
within your heart, the natural movements of 
pride, which, since the days of sin, would attri- 
bute all things to itself, even the most manifest 
and the most precious gifts ; and each time that 
you have to convey to the people the Word of 
Heaven, ask urgently of God the grace to for- 
get yourself, and to think of Him and of Him 
only. 



BODILY PKEPAEATION. 229 



CHAP. xvni. 



BODILY PEEPAEATION". 



The "body also requires to be prepared in a 
certain manner before an harangue. It should 
be subjected to a sort of magnetism, as the 
phrase runs in these days ; and the orator who 
knows the difficulties and the resources of his 
art will take very good care not to undertake a 
speech, unless he is compelled by circumstances 
to do so, without making his arrangements in 
this respect too. 

Let it not be forgotten that the body plays 
its part in all that we do, even in the most 
abstract thoughts and the most exquisite feel- 
ings. We are not angels, and the human soul 
cannot act here below without the co-operation 
of the organisation to which it is united, and 
which forms an essential part of its personality. 
The Ego^ in truth, is applicable to the functions 
of the body no less than to those of the mind. 
A man says : " I walk, I eat, I digest," as be 

Q8 



230 BODILY PREPARATION-. 

says, "I think, I wish, I love;" and although 
the organs have an inferior office in human 
actions, yet that office is sufficiently consider- 
able for the organs to promote or to impede those 
actions in a signal manner. The body then should 
be well disposed m order that the intellectual 
and moral functions may be properly performed, 
and that they may not experience a hindrance 
where they ought to find an assistance. In the 
first place, the general state of the health ought 
to be good, or at least tolerable, in order that 
the thinkmg power may enjoy instruments 
ready to receive its impulses, and the will be 
able easily to set them in motion. 

A man speaks with difficulty when suffering. 
Life is then checked, and, so to say, absorbed 
by the organs, which diverts it from intellectual 
action, or at least weakens its activity in that 
respect. One may, doubtless, by an effort of 
the will, excited by circumstances, do violence 
to the rebellion or inertness of the body, and 
hurl it into action, — but never without great 
fatigue, an exhaustion of one's strength , and, 
later, its indisposition and its decay entail a 
painful reaction after this unseasonable soaring, 
BO that the higher the previous elevation, the 



I 



BODILY PEEPAEATIOIST. 231 

deeper the subsequent fall. IN'ow the orator 
ought to spare a servant so necessary to him, 
just as an accomplished rider treats the generous 
steed whom he might ruin on a single occasion 
by over urging him. 

The orator should have a strong constitution ; 
he should have a sound head, a good digestion, 
and, above all, a robust chest, for nothing is so 
fatiguing or so exhausting as declamation when 
long continued. I speak of oratorical declama- 
tion, which brings simultaneously into action 
the whole person, moral and physical, — the head, 
all the economy of which is strained to the 
uttermost by extemporisation ; the lungs, which 
inhale and respire with violence, frequently 
with a shock and a gulp, according to the dis- 
course ; the larynx which is expanded and con- 
tracted precipitately ; the nervous system which 
is wound up to the highest degree of sensi- 
bility; the muscular system which is keenly 
agitated by the oratorical stage-play from the 
sole of the foot to the tips of the fingers; and, 
finally, the blood which warms, boils, makes 
heart and arteries beat with quick strokes, and 
shoots fire through the whole organisation, till 
the humours of the body evaporate and stream 

Q4 



232 BODILY PEEPAEATION'. 

in drops of perspiration along the surface of the 
skin. Judge from this whether, in order to 
bear such fatigue, health and vigour he required. 
[NTevertheless, there is an illusion against 
which you must be on your guard ; it is that of 
thinking yourself ill w^hen you have to speak in 
public, and to mistake for inability the often 
very seusible indisposition which you expe- 
rience when called upon for a discourse, either 
through the indolence which is deterred by 
labour and fatigue, or on account of the extreme 
emotion which is felt at the thought of appear- 
ing in public, an emotion which produces on the 
body, and on the bowels especially, an effect 
reacting all over you. Your arms and legs 
hang dead, you can hardly drag yourself along, 
or even stand upright. There is an oppression 
of the respiration, a weight on the chest, and a 
man experiences, in a fashion sometimes very 
burdensome, what was felt by the bravest of the 
brave at the first cannon-shot. Many a time 
do I remember having found myself in this 
state at the moment for mounting the pulpit 
and while waiting for my summons. Could I 
have only lied away without shame, most 
assui'edly I should have made off, and I envied 



BODILY PREPARATION. 233 

the lot of those poor creatures who think of 
nothing or of no great matter, and who know 
not these agonies and lacerations. 

They who have not the strength to overcome 
these temptations and discouragements will 
never know how to speak. They will not even 
have the courage to expose themselves to such 
trials, I may as well say it, they amount occa- 
sionally to such a torture that a man involun- 
tarily compares himself to a convict dragged to 
the gallows. Those who have known this state 
and triumphed over it are aware that I do not 
exaggerate. 

Strange ! It proves the contradictions which 
exist in man as he is, whose original consti- 
tution has been overthrown by sin which has 
set in opposition to each other, in one and the 
same person, the various elements which ought 
to harmonise in the unity of a single life. You 
wish and you do not wish simultaneously; 
body is at war with the mind, and their laws 
come into collision and into conflict. The soul, 
enlightened by divine truth, touched by charity, 
transported by the Spirit of God, or by the love 
of glory, desires to proclaim what it sees, 
knows, believes, feels, even in the teeth of con- 



I 
234: BODILT PKEPAEATION. 

tradiction, and at the cost of the greatest 
fatigue, nay, sometimes of the sharpest suffer- 
ings ; but the body, like some unbroken beast, 
refuses to the utmost of its power, and you 
cannot get it along save with a bloody spur. 
It resists with all its might, takes every oppor- 
tunity of evasion, every opportimity to shake 
off the reins which rule it and control its move- 
ments. A man of spirit would afterwards be 
inconsolable that he should have shrunk at the 
moment of appearing in public, if duty obliges 
him like a soldier, for having wavered at the 
beginning of the action ; and yet, in the former 
case, I can bear witness, and perhaps in the 
latter, — I know it not, — a man would, a hun- 
dred times over, surrender his task ere under- 
taking it, — if he dared. 

I know but one effectual remedy for this 
fear, — the remedy I have already indicated; 
it is never to mount platform or pulpit, save 
on the call of conscience alone, — to fulfil a 
duty, and to put aside whatever is merely 
personal, — glory, reputation, public opinion, — 
whatever relates to self A man then goes 
forward as a victim of duty, resigned to the 
sacrifice, and seeking only the glory of Him 



BODILY PKEPARATION-. 235 

10 whom the sacrifice is offered. Yon never 
succeed better than under these conditions, 
and everybody is a gainer ; the speaker, in 
calmness, dignity, and simphcity, — the audience, 
in a loftier and more penetrating address, be- 
cause it is untainted by selfishness and almost 
above what is merely human. 

Some persons calculate upon giving them- 
selves courage by stimulating drinks or by a 
generous nourishment. A strange sort of 
courage that ! In war, where physical force 
predominates, I can conceive such a thing, — 
and it is a resource not to be disdained before 
a battle ; but as our business is a battle of elo- 
quence, that is of the subtilest, most intelligent, 
and most mental element that can be imagined, 
there is need of another spirit rather than the 
spirit of alcohol or of wine to stimulate the 
faculties and warm the heart. Orators who 
have recourse to such means m order to become 
capable of moving their hearers, ^vill never get 
beyond the sphere of the imagination and of 
the senses, and if they ever have any eloquence, 
it will be that of the clubs, the taproom, and the 
crossroads, — an eloquence which has a power of 
its own, but in the interest of evil passions. 



236 BODILT PEEPAEATION. 

Finally, in a physical respect, there are pre- 
cautions to be taken, relatively to such and such 
an organ which, from its habitual weakness, or 
its irritated state may need repose or strength- 
ening. In this, each person must manage 
according to his temperament, constitution, and 
habits. Some are unable to speak fasting, and 
no wonder; for it is indispensable to be well 
supported against a fatigue so great. The 
voice is weakened, broken by inanition or an 
empty stomach. 

Others, again, cannot speak after a meal, 
and this too is intelligible; because the labour 
of thinking draws the blood to the head, and 
defrauds the stomach of it, thus stopping diges- 
tion, — so that the blood throbs violently in the 
head and produces giddiness. As in all other 
earthly cases, the right course here is the middle 
course. You should have had nourishment, but 
in moderation ; and you should not speak, except 
before digestion has begun its labour, or else 
after it has so far proceeded as not to be any 
longer liable to be arrested. 

Every one must settle his own regimen of 
health in this matter, and nobody can know 
what will agree with him so well as the speaker 



BODILY PREPARATION. 237 

Aimself. He will therefore do as did the 
athletes of old, who underwent a most rigor- 
ous discipline in order that they might be 
masters of their whole strength at the moment 
of conflict ; and if they had this resolution who 
contend in mere bodily strifes, and for perish- 
able garlands, what ought not the wrestlers of 
eloquence to undergo, whom the Almighty 
calls to the battles of intelligence, to the pro- 
clamation and the defence of truth, of justice, 
of excellence, of the noblest of thmgs of both 
heaven and earth, and to a share in their death- 
less glory I 



PABTS OF THE DISCCUBSE. 



CHAP. XIX. 



THE DISC OURSE. 



We liave said how the orator should prepare 
in mind, heart, and even body, for the great 
work of addressing others ; let ns now follow 
him to his field of action at the moment when 
he is about to establish truth, or combat error 
with the sword of eloquence. This is the 
solemn moment of battle. 

For the sake of greater clearness we will 
divide this consideration into six points, and 
arrange under that number of heads all that 
we have to say that may be the most useful. 
We do not aim in this laying down any in- 
violable order, but merely at having a frame 
to unite and connect our remarks, our reflec- 
tions, and the results of our experience ; for 
we must here repeat that we have had no in- 
tention of writing a treatise on the oratorical 
art; our object being merely to give an account 



PAETS OF THE DISCOUESE. 239 

to others of what we have done ourselves, and 
of how we have done it. 

We shall speak serially: first, of the begin- 
ning of the discourse, or exordium; secondly, 
of the entry upon the subject, or start; thirdly, 
of the realization of the plan, or the exposition 
and the progression of the ideas ; fourthly, of 
the supreme (all decisive) moment of the dis 
course ; fifthly, of the peroration ; sixthly, 
of oratorical action. 



24:0 THE COMMENCEMEin'. 



CHAP. XX. 

THE BEGINNING OE EXOEDITTM. 

I TERM the beginning everything which the 
orator utters from the moment he opens his 
mouth to the moment when he not merely 
shows the object of his discourse, but enters 
into and developes his subject. " "What I know 
best is my opening," says the confidant in the 
comedy of the " Plaideurs?'' This is true of 
him who recites a wi'itten discourse; it is not 
true of him who extemporises. His opening 
is that which he knows worst, because he is not 
yet under weigh and he has to get so. 

I am well aware that it is in one's power to 
write one's exordium and learn it by heart. 
It is a useful practice in certain cases, and for 
persons who have the habit of blending written 
with extemporary passages, and of stepping 
alternately from what they have learnt by 
heart to what they unfold that very instant 



THE COMMENCEMENT. 241 

from their minds. There are speakers who go 
through this process remarkably well, and who 
contrive to produce an effect chiefly by decla- 
mation prepared beforehand. I do not blame 
them for it. The art of speaking is so difficult 
that you must do in each position what you 
can, and all is well that ends well. Besides, 
as in every applied theory, the art must be 
made to fit the talents of each practitioner. 
Minds are so various, that what suits one does 
not suit another, — so that here no absolute 
laws exist. 

!N"evertheless I believe I may assert that the 
true orator, — that is, he who does not recite, 
but who speaks, — ^is not inclined to employ 
this process, and hardly finds it answer when 
he has recourse to it. The very most he can 
do is to prepare his first sentence, and if he tries 
to learn a whole exordium he generally entan- 
gles himself, gets confused, and fares worse 
than if he had spoken. Even in his exordium 
he needs the freedom of his paces ; — the one 
thing indispensable is to keep well before his 
mind the exact enunciation of his subject, and 
as rigorous and simple a formula as possible of 
the idea which he has to exhibit. Here should 
B 



242 THE COMilENCEMENT. 

be no vagueness nor obscurity, but a clear in- 
tuition and an unhesitating expression. It is 
in this that the majority of would-be extem- 
porisers fail, because, for want of reflection and 
meditation, they know clearly neither the ob- 
ject of their discourse nor the way to treat it. 
They perceive it in the gross or approximately, 
and thereupon they utter common-places, empty 
generalities, and turn continually around and 
about their subject, without ever once going 
into it. 

Those who speak are in quite a different 
position at starting from that of persons who 
recite. They are generally weak and rather 
obscure in the opening, whereas the others ap- 
pear strong and brilliant. But it is the same 
with whatever has life in nature. Life always 
opens by an obscure point, hardly perceptible, 
and proceeds from darkness to light. Accord- 
ing to Genesis, all things were created from 
night to morning. But life grows and assumes 
organisation little by little, and finally it blooms 
into all its magnificence. So with the spoken 
address, which is a something endued with life, 
it is born, it grows, it assumes organisation in 
the hearer's presence. 






THE COMMENCEMENT. 243 

For this reason, the speaker ought to begin 
softly, modestly, and without any pompous 
announcement of what is to follow. The grain 
of mustard-seed, which is the smallest of seeds, 
produces a great tree in which the birds of 
heaven come and take shelter. 

The exordium of an extemporaneous dis- 
course ought to be the simplest thing in the 
world. Its principal use is in laying the subject 
well down and, in giving a glimpse of the idea 
which has to be developed. 

Unquestionably, if circumstances require it, 
you may also introduce certain oratorical pre- 
cautions, — ^insinuations, commendations, and a 
delicate and supple mind always finds a way to 
insert these things. But, generally they clog 
that mind, because they are outside of its idea 
and may divert it from the idea; and as the 
expressions are not ready made, the mind runs a 
risk of being carried away from its subject at the 
first start, and of missing its plan. 

For the same reason, the speaker's voice will 
be moderate, nay a little weak at first, and it 
may happen, at least in a vast audience, that 
his first expressions are not heard, or are heard 
ilL This is of course an inconvenience, but it 
r2 



244 THE COMMEKCEMENT. 

cannot be helped, and it is not without its ad- 
vantages. 

It cannot be helped, or can scarcely be so, 
because as he who extemporises carries all his 
ideas in his brain, and is never quite sure of his 
language, he always gets into the pulpit or 
upon the platform in a state of deep emotion. 
iNow it is out of the question to bawl when in 
that state, and it is the most one can do to find 
voice at all; the mouth is dry, the tongue 
cleaves to the palate, — " vox faucihus Tioeret^'' — 
and one can hardly articulate. 

Besides, should the orator force his voice in 
the beginning, it Avill be presently rendered 
hoarse, broken, exhausted, and it will fail him 
before a quarter of an hour. You must speak 
neither too loudly nor too fast at first ; or else 
the violent and rapid expansions and contrac- 
tions of the larynx force it and falsify it. You 
must husband your voice at starting in order 
that it may last and maintain itself to the end. 
When you gradually strengthen and animate it, 
it does not give way, — it remains clear, strong, 
and pleasmg to the close of your harangue. 
Now this is a very important particular for 
speaker and for hearers ; for the former, because 



THE C0M3IENCEMENT. 245 

he keeps sound and powerful the instrument 
without which he can do nothing ; for the latter, 
because nothing tires them more than hoarse, 
obstreperous, and ill-articulated sounds. 

The inconvenience in question has the furthei 
advantage of establishing silence among the 
audience, especially if it is considerable and 
diffused over a vast space, as in churches. At 
the beginning of a sermon, there is always 
noise ; people taking their places, chairs or 
benches turning, coughs, pocket-handkerchiefs, 
murmurs, a hubbub more or less protracted, 
which is unavoidable in a large assembly of 
persons settling themselves. But if you speak 
low, softly, and the audience sees you speak, 
without hearing you, it will make haste to be 
still that it may listen, and all ears will be 
directed more eagerly towards the pulpit. In 
general, men esteem only what they have not, 
or what they dread losing, and the words which 
they fear they shall not be able to catch, become 
more valuable. 

For the same reason, again, the bearing of 
the extemporaneous speaker is modest and even 
somewhat abashed, as he presents himself in 
the pulpit, or on the platform ; for he almost 

£3 



246 THE COMMENCEMENT. 

invariably mounts thither as to the place of 
torture, so full is he of anguish, so heavy feeld 
the burden of speaking. ^Nevertheless, he 
must beware of allowing his agitation to be too 
apparent, and above all of affecting the victim. 
For the rest, if he be a true orator, his counte- 
nance, as well as interior feelings, will soon 
change. He will hardly have pronounced a 
few sentences ere all his confusion will vanish, 
the mind will assert its superiority and sway 
the body. Once face to face, and at grappling 
point with his idea, he will forget eveiything 
else. He will no longer see anything save the 
thought which he has to manifest, the feeling 
of his heart which he has to communicate. His 
voice, which just now was so tremulous and 
bi'oken, will acquire assurance, authority, bril- 
liancy; if he is rightly inspired that day, if 
light from on high beams in his intelligence 
and warms his soul, his eyes will shoot light- 
ning, and his voice the thunderbolt ; his coun- 
tenance will shine like the sun, and the weak- 
ness of humanity will undergo its transfigur- 
ation. He will stand on the Mount Tabor of 
eloquence. 



ENTEAIJCE INTO SUBJECT. 247 



CHAP. XXI. 

ENTEAN-CE INTO THE SUBJECT. 

Afte"r the exordium, which should clearly 
and briefly lay down the theme of the discourse, 
as well as its division, if there is occasion, the 
"business must be entered upon and the develop- 
ment begun. 

This is perhaps the hardest ]3art of extempo- 
raneous speaking, and that in which it offers 
most disadvantages. The point is to get out of 
harm, and there is but a narrow passage which 
it is easy to miss. A favourable wind is neces- 
sary to waft you into the open sea. Many are 
wrecked in this passage, and know not how to 
get out into the open sea of their subject. 

In writing you have time for reflection, and 
can arrange at leisure the sequence of your ideas. 
Nevertheless, everybody knows what trouble 
this arrangement often costs, and how great the 
perplexity is in catching the exact thread of 
b4 



248 ENTRANCE INTO SUBJECT. 

unravelment, and in distinguishing amidst seve- 
ral ideas that which commands the rest and will 
open a way for them, as a principle has its 
consequences and a cause its effects. Some- 
times whole hours are consumed in seeking the 
end of the chain, so as to unroll it suitably, and 
too often, as when trying to disentangle a skein 
of thread, you proceed awkwardly and you 
complicate, instead of unravelling. This is 
one of the chief annoyances of those who want 
to write, especially in the period of unpatient, 
fancy-ridden youth, when one readily mistakes 
whatever glitters or produces effect, for the 
main point and the thing essential. A rare 
sagacity, or else much reflection and matureness 
are requisite to catch, at the first glance, the 
true serial connexion of ideas, and to put 
everything in its right place, without groping 
and without unsuccessful trials. 

What then, if you must decide on the spot, 
without hesitation, without being able " to try," 
before an audience, which has its eyes riveted 
upon you, its ears intent, and its expectation 
eagerly awaiting the words that are to fall from 
your lips ? The slightest delay is out of the 
question, and y^u must rush into the arena, 



ENTRANCE nn:o subject. 249 

*• 
often Ibut half accoutred or ill armed. The 

moraent is come, you must begin to speak, even 
though you do not exactly know what you 
are going to say, nor whether what you shall 
say wUl lead precisely to the passage which 
leads mto the open sea. There is here a 
critical instant for the orator, an instant which 
will decide the fate of his discourse. 

"No doubt he has prepared the sequence of 
his thoughts, and he is in possession of his plan. 
But this plan comprises only the leading ideas 
stationed widely apart, and in order to reach 
the first station from the starting point, there is 
a rush to make and an aim to take, and therein 
lies the difficulty. The best way is to go with 
resolution straight to the heart of your subject, 
the main idea, and to disembowel it, so to 
speak, in order to get forth its entrails and 
lay them out. But a man has not always the 
courage and the strength ; besides which, he 
is afraid of being deficient in materials if he 
makes short work with his exposition, and thus 
of breaking down after a while, without having 
filled up the time assigned or run his due 
course. This is a common illusion aniong be- 
ginners. They ai-e always in dread of wanting 



2. ) ENTRANCE INTO SUBJECT. 

suicient materials, and either in their plan, of 
in their discourse, they heap up all manner of 
things, and end by being lengthy, diffuse, and 
confused. A man is never short of materials, 
when he is in the true line of his development. 
But he must strike the rock with the rod of 
Moses, and above all he must strike it as God 
has commanded in order that the waters may 
gush from it in an exhaustible stream. When 
the miner has touched the right lode, wealth 
abounds. 

Unfortunately, things do not always happen 
thus. Too often one takes the first path that 
offers to reach the main idea, and that i^ath is 
not always the straightest nor the clearest. 
Once in the way, with eyes bent towards the 
point of destination, a man plies, not indeed 
the oars, but words, in order to attain the 
idea, and he attains it only by circiiitous and 
tortuous efforts. The hearer who is following 
you does not very well see whither you are 
leading him, and if this position continues for 
a little longer, the discomfort of the speaker 
gains upon the listeners, and a coldness is dif- 
fused with the uneasiness among the assembly. 

Have you at times contemplated from the 



ENTRAITCE INTO STTBJECT. 251 

Bhore a white sail striving to leave the road- 
stead, and by the wind's help to gain the oiBng ? 
It tacks in all directions, to gain its object, and 
when baulked, it flutters inwards and oscillates 
without advancing, until at last the favourable 
breeze distends it, and then it passes swiftly 
over the waters, enters upon the open sea, and 
speedily vanishes below the horizon. Thus it 
is with the orator who misses his right course 
in the first instance. Eager to set out, because 
it would be discreditable to stand still, he hoists 
his sail to the first wmd that blows, and pre- 
sently back it sinks with the deceitful breeze. 
He tries another course with as poor success, 
and runs the risk of either not advancing or of 
taking a wrong line. He then makes for the 
first image that presents itself, and it beguiles 
him far from his subject. He would fain re- 
turn, but no longer knows his way. He sees 
his goal afar, eluding him, as Ithaca escaped 
Ulysses, and like Ulysses he may complete a 
very long Odyssey ere reaching it. Perhaps he 
will never get thither, and that is sadder still. 
There are persons who speak for a whole 
hour, within sight of their subject^ and yet 
cannot manage to enter it. Sometimes, again, 



252 ENTRANCE INTO SUBJECT. 

they get at it when they ought to be taking 
leave of it — that is when their time is exhausted. 
Hence interminable orations which tire the 
hearer without either instructing or moving 
him ; the orator wears himself out in uttei 
futility, and his toil is fruitless. He has 
plunged into a quagmire ; the more he strug- 
gles, the deeper he sinks ; he flounders right 
and left to find his road and recover solid 
ground, and if he gains it, it is covered all over 
with the mud through which he has waded. 

Horace says — " qui bene ccepit^ facti dimi- 
diuTYi hahet^'' " he who has begun well, has half 
done his work." This is perfectly applicable to 
the orator, who has well got into his matter, 
and who, after having clearly laid down his 
subject, attacks it full front, and takes up un- 
derstandingly the thread of his ideas. He has 
then nothing to do but to suffer his skiff to 
float along ; the very current will carry it on 
to the destination, and the strokes of his oars, 
and the breeze in his sails, will be so many ac- 
cessorial means of propulsion. But if he is out 
of the current, and still more, if he is against 
the current, should the breeze fail him or prove 
adverse, the more he rows the less he advances. 



ENTRANCE CNTO STJEJECT. 253 

He will lose time and trouble, and fill with 
uneasiness or with pity those who watch him 
from the shore. 

But how begin well ? How find this thread 
of the deep water, this favourable current, or, 
to speak without metaphor, the leading idea by 
which a man should open, and which will bring 
after it the others ? Can a precejDt be given, a 
method prescribed for this end? I^o precept, 
no method, avails anything, except in so far as 
one knows how to apply them ; and in order to 
understand them rightly, and above all, in 
order to make use of them successfully, what 
we need is good sense, intelligence, and an un- 
warped, piercing mind. A man should be able 
to discern rapidly what is to be done in the 
case which we have just described, — he must 
know how to take advantage of the rising 
breeze which can help him, and how to extri- 
cate himself from the embarrassment in which 
he is involved. There is need, in short, for 
the orator, as for any other person who has to 
face a danger or escape from a disadvantage, of 
both mind and presence of mind j — things not 
to be taught. 



254 



THE DEVELOPMENT. 



CHAP. XXII. 



THE DEVELOPMENT. 



The speaker should have his plan well fixed, 
not only on paper, but in his head, so as t d keep 
ever present before his mind the chain of the 
thoughts, and so as to proceed successively from 
one to the other in the prescribed order of the 
exposition. The discourse, then, is mounted, 
as it were, in a frame from which it ought not 
to slip, under pain of digressing and diverting, 
by its deviations, the attention of the hearers 
from the subject, as a river which overflows its 
bed sweeps away whatever it meets, and spreads 
dearth and ruin where it ought to have dif- 
fused refreshment and fertility. 

Or to speak more properly, the discourse 
which thus overflows carries nothing at all with 
it except those wordy waves which boat upon 
the ears without leaving behind them a single 



THE DEVELOPMENT. 255 

idea or moving a single feeling. Many of those 
who are anxious to speak extemporaneously, and 
who do not miderstand it, for want of talent or 
of preparation, are lost ia this manner. The 
current of their discourse, which is not kept 
within its banks, gets every moment divided 
and loses itself in emptiness, like those rivers 
with a multiplicity of mouths, which are ab- 
sorbed by the sands. 

It is a highly important matter, then, to know 
how to confine oneself to one's plan, — although 
one must not be such a slave to it, as to leave 
no room for the new thoughts which may occur 
at the moment. That would be to deprive one- 
self of one of the chief advantages of extem- 
porisation, — the inspiration of the moment and 
the life it gives to the discourse. 

A man who is accustomed to speak in public 
even foresees to a certain extent, — or rather he 
has a presentiment in the matter not indeed of 
the instant at which he will have this inspira- 
tion, but of the ideas which may offer themselves 
in certain stages of the development ; he catches 
sight of what is involved in an idea which he 
has yet only indicated. It is like a plunge of 
the sounding rod, di'opped beforehand into a 



256 THE BEVJILOPMENT. 

spriDg, and he carefully recloses it imtil he shall 
reqmre to uncover it and make it gush forth. 
He would weaken, and perhaps exhaust .\t, were 
he to pierce it during the preparatory portion ; 
he reserves it for the favourable moment, sure to 
find there a plentiful well when he pleases. 

But every advantage has its drawback. In 
the warmth of exposition a man is not always 
master of his own words, and when new thoughts 
arise, they may lead a long way from the sub- 
ject, to which there is sometimes a difficulty in 
returning. Hence digressions, prolixities, ap- 
pendages, which cause the main object to be 
lost to view, and wear out or render languid the 
attention of the audience. 

All who extemporise have had this misfor- 
tune some time or other. If you do not ac- 
custom yourself to hold with a firm hand the 
thread of your thoughts, so that you can always, 
amidst the labyrinth of the discourse and the 
many mazes into which you may be drawn, re- 
cover your way, you will never come to speak 
in an endurable manner ; and even though you 
should have fine passages, the hearer will grow 
weary of your devious style, and when all is 
said he will be neither instructed nor impressed. 



THE DEVELOPMENT. 257 

Yon may dazzle him by the pomp of language, 
surprise him by ideas more or less ingenious, 
nay amuse him, for a moment, by the wit and 
sparkle of your expressions; but you will not 
suggest one idea to his mind nor instil a single 
feeling into his ear, because there will be neither 
order nor unity, and therefore no life in your 
discourse. 

It is further essential to beware of the dis- 
tractions which may break the thread of the 
exposition, and abruptly send the mind into a 
totally different and an unprepared channel. 
This is another of the dangers attending extem- 
porisation, which imperatively demands that 
you should give yourself wholly to your sub- 
ject, and thus exclude from your mind every 
extraneous image and thought ; — no easy task, 
when a man stands face to face with a nume- 
rous assembly, whose eyes from all directions 
are centred upon him, tempting him to look at 
people, were it only because people are all 
looking at him. 

On this account it is necessary that the orator 

before speaking should be collected, — he should 

be wholly absorbed in his ideas, and proof against 

the interruptions and unpressions which sur- 

S 



258 THE DEVELOPMENT. 

round him. The slightest distraction to wliich 
he yields may break the chain of his thoughts, 
mar his plan, and even sj^onge out of his mind 
the very remembrance of his subject itself. 
This appears incredible, and I would not be- 
lieve it myself had I not experienced it. 

One day, I had to preach m one of the prin- 
cipal churches of Paris. It was a solemn fes- 
tival, and there was an immense audience, in- 
cluding part of the Court then reigning. As I 
was ascending the pulpit I perceived a person 
whom I had supposed absent, and my mind was 
carried away suddenly by a train of recollec- 
tions. I reached the pulpit-landing, knelt 
down as usual, and when I should have risen 
to speak, I had forgotten not only my text, 
but even the subject of my sermon. I lite- 
rally knew no longer what I had come to speak 
upon, and, despite of all my eflbrts to re- 
member, it, I could see nothmg but one com- 
plete blank. My embarrassment and anguish 
may be conceived. I remained on my knees a 
little longer than was customary, not knowing 
what to do. Nevertheless, not losing head or 
heart, I looked full at my danger without being 
scared by it, yet without seemg how I was to 



THE DEYELOPMENT. 259 

get out of it either. At last, unable to recover 
anythiDg by my own proper strength, — ^neither 
subject nor text, — I had recourse to God, and 
I said to Him, from the very bottom of my 
heart and with all the fervour of my anxiety, — 
" Lord if it be Thy will that I preach, give me 
back my plan ;" and at that instant, my text 
came back into my mind, and mth my text 
the subject. I think that never in my life 
have I experienced anything more astonishing, 
nor a more lively emotion of gratitude. 

At other times, and this often happens, you 
lose while speaking the thread of your dis- 
course, especially when some new idea crosses, 
or if you allow^ yourself to begm looking about 
among the audience. You generally become 
aware of it ere the sentence you are utter- 
ing is finished ; for when you extemporise, you 
always see the next idea before you have done 
with its predecessor, and in order to advance 
with certainty you must look somewhat for- 
ward, in order to discern where you are going 
to plant your foot presently. Suddenly, you 
can see nothing before you, and you are come 
to the closing member of your period If you 
then become agitated, you are lost ; for anxiety, 



260 THE DEVELOPMENT. 

far from enabling you to recover your :.(:leas, 
confuses them still more, and the more disturbed 
you get, the less capable are you of retrieving 
your plan and re-entering the road. In these 
cases, you must calmly, under another form, 
with other phrases, resume the same thought 
you have just expressed, and nearly always it 
recalls that which was lost ; it gently excites 
the remembrance of it, by virtue of the associa- 
tion of ideas and of the previous elaboration of 
the plan. But while yet speaking, you must 
look inwards with the whole sight of your mind, 
in order to discern what this sj^ecies of con- 
iuration shall evoke, and at the slightest sign 
to grasp your idea once more. All this is not 
effected without perplexity or without interior 
tribulation. 

There are untoward days, when one is 
scarcely master of one's attention, and in spite 
of the most laborious preparation the plan re- 
fuses to fix itself in the head, or to stay there, 
escaping on one side or on other, as in 
a sieve ; or else something comes across which 
throws you out of your way. It is often 
the effect of some physical cause; — a nervous 
or a feverish state, arising from atmospheric 



THE DEVELOPMENT. 261 

influences, from the body's or a single bodily 
organs, indisposition, and above all from anx- 
ieties of heart or of mind. 

In such cases there is much difficulty in 
entering upon one's plan or in keeping to it. 
Sometimes, indeed, one does not enter into it 
at all, and one speaks at the side of it, so to 
say, trying to catch it, and unable to overtake it 
so as to settle oneself therein, like a man who 
runs after the conveyance which was to have 
carried him, and who reaches the door without 
being able to open it and take his seat. This 
is one of the most fatio-uino^ situations with 
which I am acquainted. It exhausts alike the 
will, the mind, and the body ; — the will, which 
makes vain endeavours to recapture a subject 
perpetually evading it ; the mind, which strug- 
gles in a desperate wrestle with its own 
thoughts; and the body, which travails and 
sweats, as if to compensate by exterior agi- 
tation for the interior activity which is de- 
ficient. 

For the greatest possible avoidance of dis- 
tractions, I will recommend a thmg which I 
have always found successful — that is, not to 
contemplate the individuals who compose the 
s 3 



262 THE DEVELOPMEKT. 

audience, and thus not to estabLsh a special 
understanding mth any one of them. The 
short-sighted have no need of my recommen- 
dation, but it will be useful to those who see 
far, and who may be disturbed by some sudden 
impression or some movement of curiosity. As 
for myself I carefully avoid all ocular contact 
with no matter whom, and I restrict myself to 
a contemplation of the audience as a whole, — 
keeping my looks above the level of the heads. 
Thus I see all, and distinguish nobody, so that 
the entire attention of my mind remains fas- 
tened upon my plan and my ideas. 

I do not, however, advise an imitation of 
Bourdaloue, who closed his eyes while de- 
livering his sermon, lest his memory should 
fail, or some distraction sweep away part of liis 
discourse. It is a great disadvantage to shut 
the eyes while speaking; for the look and its 
play are among the most effectual means of 
oratorical action. It darts fire and light, it 
radiates the most vital energy, and people un- 
derstand the orator by looking at him and 
foUowhig the play of his eyes almost as well as 
by listening to his voice and words. 



s 

CSISIS OF THE DISCOUESE. 2^8 



CHAP, XXIII. 

THE CRISIS OF THE DISCOUESE. 

I GIVE this name to the moment when the sioeech 
produces its highest effect, by piercing and 
mastering the hearer's soul either with the 
light which it imparts, or the feelings which it 
arouses. The listener is at that solemn instant 
won, and remains passive under the influence 
which touches and vivifies. But in order to 
understand this state, it is necessary to con- 
sider closely, and in their respective relations, the 
two poles which speaking instantaneously unites 
for the achievement of its end. 

Eloquence has this peculiarity which distin- 
guishes it from other arts, that it is always 
through the intelligence it reaches the heart, — 
that is, it is by means of the idea which it en- 
genders or gives bkth to; and this is what 
makes it the most excellent, the most profound 
8 4 



ii(f4 CRISIS OF THE DISCOUESE. 

of arts, because it takes possession of the whole 
man and can neither charm, nor move, nor bear 
him along, except by enlightening him and 
causing him to think. It is not a matter of 
mere sensibility, imagination, or passion, as in 
music and painting, which may j)i'oduce great 
effects without thought having a predominant 
share in them, although those arts themselves 
have a loftier and a wider range in proportion 
as the intelligence plays a greater part, and 
ideas exercise a higher sway in their operations. 

Yet in music and in the plastic arts, ideas are 
so blended with form and so controlled by it, 
that it is very difficult to abstract them from 
it, with a view of testing theii- value and ana- 
lysing them; they flow with the form which is 
their vehicle, and you could scarcely translate 
them into any intelligible or precise language. 
Hence the vagueness of these arts, and particu- 
larly of music; a flict which does not prevent 
it from exercising a powerful effect at the very 
moment of the impression, which, however, 
is transient, and leaves little behind it. It 
vanishes almost as soon as the sounds which 
have produced it cease. 

In eloquence, on the contrary, the fonn is 



CEISI8 OF THE DISCOURSE. 265 

Bubordinate to the idea. In itself it possesses 
little to dazzle or to charm, — it is articulate 
language, which certainly is far less agreeable 
than language sung, or melody. However 
sonorous the voice of the speaker, it will never 
charm the ear hke a musical passage, and even 
the most graceful or the most energetic orato- 
rical action can never have the elegance, har- 
mony, or finish which the painter or the 
sculptor is able to give to the bodies of the 
characters whom he represents. Notwith- 
standing which the tones and action of the 
speaker often produce astonishing effects on 
those who hear him, which are lost in reading 
what he has said, or in his written discourse. 

It follows that eloquence has its own artistic 
or aesthetical side, besides that idea which it 
is its business to convey. But it relies much 
more on the idea than do the other arts, so that 
the absence or the feebleness of the idea is 
much more felt in it, and it is impossible to be 
a great orator, without possessing a lofty intel- 
ligence and great power of thought; whereas 
a man may be a distinguished musician, painter, 
or sculptor without any brilliant share of these 
endowments ; which amounts to this, that elo' 



266 CRISIS OF THE DISC0UB8E. 

quence is the most intellectual of the arts, and 
whose exercise requires the mightiest faculties 
of the mind. 

Whence, again, it follows, — and it is to this 
we would come, — that eloquence is the pro- 
foundest and the most difficult of arts, on 
account of the end at which it aims, which is 
not merely to charm, please, or amuse, tran- 
siently, but to penetrate into the soul, that it 
may move and change the will, may excite or 
may prevent its action by means of the ideas 
which it engenders, or, as it is expressed in 
rhetorical treatises, by convincing and per- 
suading. The true end of the orator is to make 
himself master of souls, guiding them by his 
mind, causing them to think as he thinks, and 
thus imparting to their wills the movements and 
direction of his own. 

I well know that the multitude may be 
stirred and carried away by fine phrases, by 
brilliant images, and above all by bursts of 
voice and a vehement action, without any great 
amount of ideas at the root. The orator, in 
this instance, acts after the manner of music, 
which produces feelings and sometunes deeds, 
without thoughts. But what is suffioiont iu 



CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE. ^6Y 

music is at the very utmost but half of what 
eloquence requires, and although it may indeed 
produce some effect in this way, it remains be- 
neath itself, and loses in dignity. It is sonorous 
but empty ; it is a sounding cymbal, or, if the 
comparison be liked better, it is a scenic deco- 
ration, which produces a momentary illusion, 
and leaves little behind it. 

Eloquence is not worthy of its name, and 
fulfils not its high vocation, except in so far as 
it sways the human will by intelligence, deter- 
mining its resolutions in a manner suitable to 
a rational and free being, not by mere sensible 
impressions, or by sallies of passion, but above 
all, by the aspect of truth, by convictions 
of what is just and right, that is, by the idea 
of them which it gives, or rather, which it 
ought to engender, develope, and bring to life 
in the sonl. 

In a word, everything in the discourse is 
reducible to this point — that the hearer should 
be made to conceive what the orator under- 
stands, and as he understands it, in order that 
he may feel what the orator feels and will what 
he wills ; in other words, that an idea should be 
engendered in the understanding of tlrie hearer 



CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE. 

similar to the idea of the speaker, in order that 
their hearts as well as their minds may be in 
unison. There lies the difficulty, and they 
who can overcome it are indeed eloquent. 

But there are many things required for this, 
— or, to put it in another way, there are, in 
the operation which the orator has no effect, 
several stages or degrees which are known to 
all who speak in public, or of which at least 
they have had experience, even if they have 
not categorically explained them to themselves. 

The first stage is that in which the audience is 
won, — the speaker commands it. 

The second is that in which his address 
enters the hearer's soul, and makes him con- 
ceive the idea. 

The third is like the organisation of this 
conception. 

The hearer who has conceived the idea makes 
one with the orator m mind and will — there is 
but one soul between them, — it is the com- 
pletion of the work by which the speaker takes 
possession of him whom he has moved and con- 
vinced. 

Let us consider these three stages. 

To win the hearer is to seize his attention. 



CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE. 269 

and so to fix it tliat he shall listen Trithont 
effort, and even with pleasure to 'what is said, 
opening his mhid for its reception and absorp- 
tion, to the exclusion of all other thought, 
image, or sensation "which may arise. Xow 
this capture of mind by a discourse is no easy 
matter, and it sometimes requii'es a considerable 
time and sustained exertions to obtain it. At 
other times, it is effected at once, at the first 
words, whether on account of the confidence 
inspired by the speaker, or of the lively interest 
of the subject and the curiosity which it ex- 
cites, or for whatever reason else. It is hard to 
give a recommendation in this respect, seeing the 
great diversity of circumstances which may in 
this case exercise a favourable or an adverse in- 
fluence ; but this we may safely assert, that you 
must attain this point in order to produce any 
impression by your speech. 

There are few who know how to listen; it 
presupposes a great desii-e for instruction, and 
therefore a consciousness of one's ignorance, 
and a certam mistrust of one's self, which 
springs from modesty or hmnility, — the rarest 
of virtues. Besides, hstening demands a certain 
strength of will, which makes a person capable 



270 CEISIS OF THE DISCOURSE. 

of directing the mind to one point and there 
keeping it despite of every distraction. Even 
when you are alone with a serious book, what 
trouble you have in concentrating your atten- 
tion so as to comprehend what you are reading. 
And if the perusal be protracted, what a num- 
ber of things escape and have to be read over 
again ! What will it not be, then, in the midst 
of a crowd in which you are assailed on aU 
hands by a variety of impressions ? 

Besides, eaSh individual comes with a dif. 
ferent disposition, with different anxieties or 
with prejudices in proportion to age, condition, 
and antecedents. Imagine several himdreds, 
several thousands, of persons in an audience, 
and you have as many opinions as there are 
heads, as many passions as there are interests 
and situations, and in all this great crowd few 
agree in thoughts, feelings, and desires. Each 
muses on this matter or on that, desires one 
thing or another, has such or such preposses- 
sions ; when lo ! in the midst of all these diver- 
gences, of all these contrarieties, I rise, a 
man, mount pulpit or platform, and have to 
make all attend in order to make all think, feel, 
and will, just as I do. Truly it is a stupen- 



CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE. 271 

dons task, and one which cannot be achieved 
except by a power ahnost above humanity. 

Rhetoricians say that the exordium should 
be devoted to this purpose. It is at the outset 
that you should endeavour to captivate the 
mind and to attach it to the subject, either by 
forcibly striking it by surprise, as in the exor- 
dium ex abrupto^ or in dexterously winning 
good will, as in the exordium " of insinuation." 
All this is true, but the precept is not easy 
to reduce to practice. It is tantamount to 
saying that in order to m-ake a good begin- 
ning a great power, or a great adroitness, 
in speaking is required. Who shall give us 
this? 

The first moments of the discourse are gene- 
rally very difficult to the orator, not only on 
account of the trouble he experiences in setting 
out, in laying down and developing his subject, 
as we just now showed, but also on account of 
the necessity of making his audience set out; 
and here he meets at starting, either the re- 
sistance of inertness, the indolence loth to take 
the pains of Hstening, or else the levity which 
flies off each instant, or else the latent or the 
express opposition of some adver-se prejudice, 



272 CRISIS OF THE DI8COUE8B. 

or interest. He has, therefore, to wrestle with 
his hearer in order to overcome him, and in 
this he is not always successful. 

Until everybody has taken his place and 
settled himself well in it, and then has coughed, 
cleared his throat, blown his nose, and made a 
stir as long as he decently can in his situation, 
the poor orator speaks more or less in the midst 
of noise, or at least of a half-repressed disturb- 
ance, which hinders his words, at first, from 
having any effect upon the mind. They pene- 
trate nowhere, they return to him, and he is 
tempted to give way to discouragement, es- 
pecially in large assemblies where there are all 
sorts of people, as at a sermon. If he waver, 
he is undone, he will never become master of 
his hearers, and his discourse will be powerless. 

What will sustain him is, first of all, a lively 
sense of the mission intrusted to him, of the 
duty he has to fulfil, — and, in the next place, 
that something which is peculiar to the strong 
man, and by which he derives excitement from 
opposition or difficulty, and enthusiasm from the 
strife. The more resistance they meet, the 
more they endeavour to prevail, the more they 
desire victory ; — it is one of valour's spurs in 



CEISIS OF THE DISOOUBSE. 273 

the conflict. Again, what is very useful to him 
in this emergency is the authority of speech 
which soon asserts a kind of ascendency over 
the hearer, — a sympathetic something in the 
voice which pleases the ear and reaches the 
heart, or else a certain pungency of pronuncia- 
tion and accent which wins the attention. 

By these means, and those of which we be- 
fore spoke, and above all by help from on high, 
you succeed more or less quickly in seizing 
upon your audience, in commanding it, in win- 
ning it, in chaining it, so to say, to your dis- 
course, so that all minds, rallying in a common 
attention, converge towards a single point, and 
appear to hang on the speaker's lips, while all 
eyes are fixed upon him. Then is established 
that solemn stillness upon which the life of 
speaking is conditional. No more fidgetings 
on chair or bench; no more nose-blowing, no 
more throat-clearing ; even colds are cured as 
if by magic, and in the absence of all noisy 
sounds, there is nothing to be heard save the 
respiration of the audience, and the voice of the 
orator, as it arises, prevails, and diffuses itself. 
The assembly is won — it listens. 

. — Now alone can be achieved the 
T 



274 CRISIS OF THE DISCOrKSE. 

task of eloquence, which is to engender in the 
hearer the requisite idea, so as to make him 
conceive and feel "what it enunciates. 

Here, as in all conceptions, there are two 
poles, the one active, which transmits life, the 
other passive, which conceives by admitting it ; 
and conception is effected by their interpene- 
tration. Such is the operation when all looks 
are bent, strained, towards the orator, every 
mind is open to welcome and absorb his words 
with all its powers, and those words sink into 
and fertilise it by their virtue. It is thus that 
ideas are produced by instruction, which is a 
real fertilisation and a nourishment of the in- 
telligence ; for " man lives not hy bread alone^ 
hut hy every word of truth?'* 

This is the most momentous period of the 
discourse, what we term the crisis, or supreme 
effort of speaking ; it is truth itself, it is He 
who calls Himself "the way, the truth, and the 
life," who, by the mouth of his minister, or of 
some man of his choice, acts upon the soul, 
pierces it, and makes a settlement therein, that 
it may become as a throne where He loves to 
sit, as a sanctuary which He is pleased to in 
habit, as a mirror in which He reflects Himself 



CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE. 275 

with predilection, as a torcli by which He 
desires to shine and to diffuse his light. 

In the physical world wherever there is the 
communication and reproduction of life, it is 
also the Living God who acts; whereas the 
men, the animals, and the plants which are 
employed in this great operation, are merely 
organs and implements in the work. This is 
why the gospel declares that there is but one 
Father, He from whom all paternity is derived 
in heaven and on earth ; as He alone is good, 
because He is the source of every good, and 
He alone is Master and Lord, because He is 
truth. 

It is just the same, and for still greater 
reason, in the moral world, or in the communi- 
cation of intellectual life. It is an operation 
performed according to the same laws, — ^and 
on this account, he who instructs or effects a 
mental genesis (the true meaning of the word 
"instruct"), — that person also is a father _ui- 
tellectually, and it is the noblest and most pro- 
lific species of paternity. 

Such is the sublime mission of the orator, 
such the high function which he discharges. 
When he circulates a living word, it is a trans- 
t2 



276 CRISIS OF THE DISC01JE8E. 

mission of life, it is a reproduction and multi* 
plication of truth in the souls of others whom 
he intellectually vivifies, as a father his off- 
spring according to the flesh. As He whose 
image and instrument he is, diffuses His light, 
warmth, and life over all creatures, so the 
orator, filled with inspiration, instils upon the 
spot into thousands of hearers the light of his 
word, the warmth of his heart, and the life of 
his soul. He fertilises all these intelligences 
at once ; and this is why, as soon as the rays 
of his discourse have entered them and im- 
parted to them the new conception, they make 
but one soul with him, and he is master of that 
soul, and pours into it virtue from on high. 

They all live in unison at that important 
moment, identified by the words which have 
mastered them. 

This critical instant of the discourse, when 
the supreme effort of eloquence is achieved, is 
accordingly marked by the profoundest emotion 
of which men are susceptible, that which always 
attends the communication of life, and in this 
case by so much the more replete with happi- 
ness as the life of the mtellect is more pure, 
and less remote from Him who is its source. 



CRISIS OF THE DISCOURSE. 277 

Hence that exquisite feeling, to which no other 
is to be compared, which the orator experiences 
when his words enter into and vivify the minds 
of his audience; and hence also the sweet im- 
pressions of which these last are conscious 
when they receive the spirit of the word and 
by it are nourished. 

Thirdly. — ^When the orator has thus pene- 
trated into the hearer's soul by the radiation of his 
speech, animating that soul with its hfe, he be- 
comes master of it, impresses, moves, and tm-ns it 
at will, without effort, in the simplest manner, by 
a word, a gesture, an exclamation, nay silence 
itself. The fact is, he possesses the hearer's 
heart; it is open to him, and there is between 
them an intimate communication which has 
scarcely any further need of exterior means. 
Thus it is with two persons who love each 
other dearly, and who have confidence in each 
other; they understand each other, without 
speaking, and the feeling which animates and 
unites them is so intimate and so sweet that 
language is powerless to express it, and they 
need it no longer to make themselves mutually 
understood. 

Everything, then, is in the orator's power 
T 8 



278 CRISIS OF THE DISCOUESE* 

when he has thus won his audience, and he 
ought to take advantage of this poAver which is 
given to him temporarily, to complete his work, 
and to develope and organise in the minds of the 
listeners the idea to which he has given bii'th ; 
this is the third stage of his undertaking. 

Strike the iron while it is hot, says the pro- 
verb. In the present instance there is something 
more than iron and better than iron to forge 
and fashion ; there is the young life which elo- 
quence has called forth to develope, in order 
that the conceived idea may take shape in the 
understanding, and influence the will — partly 
through the emotion which it has produced, and 
partly through the intellectual views which 
furnish the will with motives, as feeUng and 
passion supply it A\ith incentives. Eloquence 
would miss its aim, if it failed to lead the hearer 
to some act by which the idea is to be realised. 

It is in this last stage, then, that the prac- 
tical part of the discourse should be placed 
along with the application of deductions. In 
these must the speaker reap the fruits of his 
labour. After having imparted his feelings 
and thoughts to tlie listener, lie must also make 
them partakers of his will. He nmst imprint 



CEISI8 OF THE DISCOTJESE. 279 

his personality upon them, fashion them in his 
resemblance, so that they shall feel, think, and 
will as he does, in the interest of that truth 
and excellence of which he has brought home 
to them the manifestation. He must not take 
leave of his audience till he has touched, con- 
vinced, and carried it away. It is in the pero- 
ration, as we are about to see, that the seal 
must be set to the work, and that it must receive 
its plenary completeness. 



T« 



2S0 



THE CONOLTJSION. 



CHAP. XXIV. 

IHE CLOSE OF THE DISCOUKSE, OR 
PERORATION. 

If it is difficult to begin, when one extemporises, 
it is still more difficult to finish — that is, to 
finish well. Most orators spoil their speeches 
by lengthiness, and prolixity is the principal 
disadvantage of extemporaneous speaking. In 
it, more than in any other, one wants time to be 
brief, and there is a perpetual risk of being- 
carried away by the movement of the thoughts 
or the expressions. 

It sometimes happens, unfortunately, that you 
ai'e barely into your subject when you should 
end; and then, with a confused feeling of all 
that you have omitted, and a sense of what you 
might still say, you are anxious to recover lost 
ground in some degree, and you begin some 
new development when you ought to be cou- 



thp: conclusion. 281 

eluding. This tardy, and unseasonable, yet 
crude after-growth has the very worst effect 
upon the audience which, already fatigued, be- 
comes impatient and listens no longer. The 
speaker loses his words and his trouble, and 
everything which he adds by way of elucidat- 
ing or corroborating what he has said, spoils 
what has gone before, destroying the impres- 
sion of it. He repeats himself unconsciously, 
and those who still listen to him follow him 
with uneasiness, as men watch from shore a 
bark which seeks to make port and cannot. It 
is a less evil to turn short round and finish ab- 
ruptly than thus to tack incessantly without 
advancing. For the greatest of a speaker's mis- 
fortunes is that he should bore. 

The bored hearer becomes almost an enemy. 
He can no longer attend, and yet, at that mo- 
ment, he is unable to think of anything else. 
His mind is like an overladen stomach which 
requires rest, and into which additional aliment 
is thrust despite of its distaste and repugnance ; 
it needs not much to make it rise, rebel, and 
disgorge the whole of what it has received. An 
unseasonable or awkward speaker inflicts a 



282 THE CONCLUSION. 

downright torture on those who are compelled 
to hear t im, a torture that may amount to sick- 
ness or a nervous paroxysm. Such is the state 
into which a too lengthy discoui-se, and, above 
all, a never-ending peroration, plunge the au- 
dience. It is easy to calculate the dispositions 
which it inspires and the fruit it produces. 

Sometimes — and I humbly confess that I here 
speak from experience — the orator is still more 
unfortunate, if that were possible. He wants 
to finish, and no longer knows how, like a man 
who seeks to quit a house in danger, and finds 
all the doors shut; he runs right and left to 
discover an escape, and strikes against dead 
walls. Meanwhile time presses, and the im- 
patience of the public betrays itself by a re- 
pressed disturbance, some rising to go away, 
some moving on their seats to relieve themselves, 
while a confused hum ascends towards the 
speaker, — a too certain token that he is no 
longer attended to, and that he is speaking to 
the air, which fact only increases his agitation 
and perplexity. At last, as everything has an 
end in this world, he reaches his conclusion 
if'.er some fashion or other, and wai*-weary, 



THE CONCLUSION. 283 

either by catching hold of the common-place 
wind-up about eternal life, should he be preach- 
ing, or, under other circumstances, by some 
panting period which has the au- of expressing 
a feeling or a thought, and which in nine cases 
out of ten, fills the ear with sonorous and empty 
words. And thus the poor orator who could do 
better, and who is conscious that he has done 
ill, retires, with lowly mien, much confused, and 
vowing, though rather late, that they shall not 
catch him in that way any more. 

Alas ! yet again, perhaps shall they so catch 
him, even after the most laborious preparation ; 
for there is nothing so fitful as eloquence. It 
needs but an omission, a distraction to break the 
thread of the ideas and launch you into void or 
darkness, and then you grope in a forest, or 
rather struggle amid a chaos. It is a true ora- 
torical discomfiture and rout ; and I have re- 
marked that it happens most when one is most 
sure of oneself and hopes to produce the greatest 
effect. These are lessons which He, who 
exalts the humble and abases the proud, is 
pleased occasionally to give public speakers, 
so prone to be elated by success and to ascribe 



284 THE CONCLUSION. 

to themselves its credit and its glory. Happy 
are they if they profit by them. 

There is a way of concluding which is the 
most simple, the most rational, and the least 
adopted. True, it gives little trouble and af- 
fords no room for pompous sentences, and that 
is why so many despise it, and do not even 
give it a thought. It consists merely of wind- 
ing up by a rapid recapitulation of the whole 
discourse, presenting in sum what has been de- 
veloped in the various parts, so as to enunciate 
only the leading ideas mth theii* connec- 
tion; — a process which gives the opportunity 
of a nervous and lively summary, foreshort- 
ening all that has been stated, and making the 
remembrance and profitable apphcation of it 
easy. 

And since you have spoken to gain some 
point, to convince and persuade your hearer, 
and thus influence his will by impressions and 
considerations, and finally by some paramount 
feeling which must give the finishing stroke 
and determine him to action, the epitome of 
the ideas must be itself strengthened, and, as it 
were, rendered living by a few touching words, 



THE CONCLUSION. 285 

whicli inspii'it the feeling in question at the 
last moment, so that the convinced and af- 
fected auditor shall be ready to do what he 
is required. 

Such, in my mind, is the best peroration, 
because it is alike the most natural and the 
most efficacious. It is the straight aim of the 
discourse, and as it issues from the very bowels 
of the subject and from the direct intention of 
the speaker, it goes right to the soul of the 
listener and places the two in unison at the 
close. 

I am aware that you may, and with success, 
adopt a different method of concluding, either 
by some pungent things which you reserve for 
your peroration, and which tend to maintain to 
the last and even to reawaken the attention of 
the audience; or else by well-turned periods 
which flatter the ear and excite all sorts of 
feelings, more or less analogous to the subject, — 
or in fine, by any other way. Undoubtedly 
there are cii'cumstances in which these orato- 
rical artifices are in keeping, and may prove 
advantageous or agreeable; I do not reje^^t 
them, for in war all means, not condemned by 



286 THE CONCLUSION. 

humanity and honour, and capable of procuring 
victory, are allowable, — and public sj^eaking is 
a real conflict; I merely depose that the sim- 
plest method is also the best, and that the 
others, belonging more to art than to nature, 
are rather in the province of rhetoric than of 
true eloquence. 



THE DISCOURSE ENDED. 287 



CHAP. XXV. 

AFTEE THE D I S C O TJ E S E . 

It should seem as if all had been said, once the 
discourse is concluded ; and yet we will add a 
few words in the physical and moral interest of 
the speaker, we will point out to him various 
precautions which may appear futile to certain 
persons, and may prove serviceable to others; 
at least we have always found our own account 
in having adopted them. 

On quitting the pulpit, the platform, or any 
other place where you have been speaking for 
a considerable time and with animation, you 
should try to remain quiet for a while in order 
to recompose yourself gradually, and to allow 
the species of fever which has excited and con- 
sumed you to subside. The head particularly 
needs rest, — for nothing is so fatiguing to it as 
extemporaneous speaking, which brings into 



588 THE DISCOURSE ENDED. 

play all the faculties of the mind, strains them 
to the uttermost, and thus causes a powerful 
determination of blood to the brain. More- 
over, the nervous system, which is ancillary to 
it, is strongly agitated, — it requires tranquil- ! 

lising, — and the whole body, violently exerted * 

as it has been by the oratorical delivery, re- i 

quires refreshment and repose; and these, a 1 

slight doze, if it is possible to obtain one in a | 

case of the sort, will afford better than any ] 

other means. i 



The vocal organs which have just been ex- 
ercised to excess, ought to be kept unem- 
ployed; and therefore great care should be 
taken, — ^if indeed the inconvenience can be 
avoided, — not to receive visits or hold conver- 
sations. In the fatigue of the moment, any 
new effort, however small, is prejudicial, and 
takes away more strength than the most vio- 
lent exertions at another time. The first thing 
to do in this state is to return thanks to God 
for the danger escaped, and for the help re- 
ceived, even when you fancy that you have 
not achieved the success which you desire. 
Public speaking is so hazardous a thing, that one 
never knows what will be the issue of it, and 



THE DISOOUSSE ENDED. 289 

in nothing is assistance from above so really- 
necessary. 

He who feels the importance and the danger 
of speaking, who has any notion of what the 
orator ought to be, any notion of all that he 
needs to accomplish his task, the obstacles he 
must surmount, the difficulties he must over- 
come, and, on the other hand, how slight a matter 
suffices to overthrow or paralyse him, — ^he who 
understands all this can well conceive also that 
he requires to be breathed upon from on high 
m order to receive the inspiration, the light, 
fire, which shall make his discourse living and 
efficacious. For all life comes from Him who 
is life itself, life infinite, life eternal, inex- 
haustible, and the life of minds more still than 
of bodies, since God is spirit. It is but just, 
therefore, to pay Him homage for what He has 
vouchsafed to give us, and to refer to Him at 
the earliest moment the fruit or glory of what 
we have received. This is the more fitting, 
because there is nothinoj more intoxicatinfr than 
the successes of eloquence; and in the elation 
which its power gives, owing to a consciousness 
of strength, and the visible influence which one 
is exercising over one's fellow-creatures, one is 

u 



290 THE DISCOURSE ENDED. 

naturally prone to exalt oneself in one's own 
conceit, and to ascribe to oneself, directly or 
indirectly, wholly or partially, the effect pro- 
duced. One should beware of these tempta- 
tions of pride, these illusions of vanity, which 
are invariably fatal to true talent. 

Within that measure, it is allovvable to rejoice 
to a certain extent at what one has achieved, 
in the very great relief which is experienced 
after speaking. I know nothing equal to this 
sense of relief, especially when one thinks that 
the task has not been unworthily performed, — 
except the anguish felt before beginning a 
speech. The one is the consequence of the 
other; for the greatest joys of this world are 
always produced by the cessation of the greatest 
troubles. 

First, there is a sort of infantine joy at being 
delivered from a difficult task, or disencumbered 
of a heavy burden. Labour weighs hard upon 
all the children of Adam, even on those who 
the most feel its necessity, and we instinctively 
shun it to the utmost. Besides which, rest 
after sharp fatigue is delicious, and particularly 
after the labours of the mind. Socrates, son 
of a midwife, used to say that he continued the 



THE DISCOURSE ENDED. 291 

occupation of Ms mother; but it was in the 
mental order, by means of his interrogatories 
and dialectics, and hence the eristic method. 
One may say, then, with the wisest of the 
Greeks, that the delivery of a discourse in 
public is the production of an intellectual off- 
spring ; and very fortunate it is when that off- 
spring is not dead or unlikely to live. To 
conceive an idea, to organise it in a plan vigo- 
rously meditated, and to carry this mental 
progeny for more or less time in the under- 
standing, and then when matured to give it to 
the light amidst the dangers and the throes of 
public speaking, this is an exertion which pro- 
duces immense relief and a very great satis- 
faction when it succeeds. And truly, how light 
one feels after a speech, and how comfortable 
the relaxation of mind and body after the ex- 
treme tension which has wrung all the springs 
and exhausted all the exertions of one's vital 
power ! ]N"one can know it, save him who has 
experienced it. 

After this comes a feeling at once higher and 

deeper, that of duty accomplished, of a task 

honourably fulfilled, one of the sweetest joys 

of conscience. Finally, another feeling raises 

u2 



TilE DTSCoriiSK ENDED. 

US in our own estimation even while inspirirg 
us with humility, that of being an instrument 
of truth to make it kno^m to men as far as our 
weakness allows, and of having given testimony 
to it at the cost of some sacrifices, or at least 
of our toil and sweat. You are never more 
closely miited with Truth than when you are 
announcing it with conviction and devotedness. 
When you are called to proclaim it solemnly, 
it reveals itself or makes itself felt in a manner 
quite peculiar, and, as Bossuet says, with sudden 
illuminations. He who instructs others in hearty 
and living language derives more profit than 
even those whom he teaches, and receives more 
light than he imparts. This is why teaching is 
the best method of learning. 

From these mingled sentiments results a 
state fuU of sweetness, especially if you believe 
that you have succeeded, and in general your 
own feeling does not deceive you in this 
respect. Still, illusion is possible, whether 
for good or ill, because the true orator, who 
always needs inspiration, never has a very 
clear consciousness of what he has done, or 
rather of what has been done by him. God 
alone, who inspires him, illumines the minds 



THE nSCOUESE ENDED. 293 

of the hearers by His light, and changes their 
hearts by his grace. Now God frequently 
employs the weakest instruments, appar^gntly, 
to touch the soul, as He has renewed the face 
of the world by what, in the eyes of human 
wisdom, were the meanest and most foolish of 
mankind. 

Thus, a discourse with which a speaker is 
dissatisfied, because it has fallen short of his 
ideal and of his plan, has produced a profound 
impression and has subjugated every listener; 
whereas another, with which he was dehghted 
aild which he thought highly efiective, has 
produced nothing save his own fruitless exulta- 
tion, and too often an augmentation of his 
vain-glory. Here, as in everything, the Al- 
mighty is absolute : — He sports with the desires, 
efforts, and opinions of men, and makes them 
instrumental, according to His good pleasure, 
in the manifestation of truth, and the promo- 
tion of the designs of His justice or His mercy. 

Let no speaker, then, too much disquiet 
himself as to the effect he may have produced 
and the results of his discourse ; let him leave 
all this in the hands of God, whose organ he 
is, and let him beseech Him to make some- 
u3 



294 THE DISCOUESE ENDED. 

thing accrue from it to His glory, if success 
has been achieved; or if he has had the mis- 
fortune to fail, to make good out of this evil 
come, as it belongs to the Divine Power to do, 
and to that power alone. 

Above all, let him not canvass this person 
and that inquisitively concerning what their 
feelings were in hearing him, and their opmion 
of his discourse and his manner. All such 
questions seek a motive for self-love, rather 
than any useful hmts; they are an indirect 
way of going in quest of praise and admiration, 
and may be carried to a very abject extent, in 
order to get oneself consideration, criticising 
one's one performance merely to elicit a con- 
trary verdict — tricks and subterfuges of vanity, 
which begs its bread in the meanest quarters, 
and which in its excessive craving for flattery, 
challenges applause and extorts eulogy. This 
wi'etched propensity is so inborn in human 
nature, since original sin, that frequently the 
greatest orators are not proof agamst this 
littleness, which abuses them in the eyes of 
God and man. Besides, it is a Avay of exposing 
oneself to cruel disappointments. 

At length when the speaker is sufficiently 



THE DISCOCESE ENDED. 295 

rested, and has become more calm, next day, 
for instance, let him review his plan while his 
recollections are stUl new, in order to correct 
and perfect it by the side of what he has 
actually said, either rectifying the succession 
of the ideas, if necessary, or adding those 
which have occurred to him while speaking. 
It will be so much gained for some future 
speech on the same plan. 

If the discourse has been really successful, 
and he feels inclined, let him write according 
to his plan as he has spoken, and thus he will 
compose a finished, after having delivered an 
extemporaneous, production. Great orators 
have in this manner writen several of their 
orations subsequently, — Cicero, Bossuet, and 
others. In this case, the surest method is 
to have a short-hand writer who shall supply 
you with the whole of what you have said, and 
whose reports you can rewrite, yet so rewrite 
as to preserve whatever \T.vid or striking thuigs 
the spoken words possessed. 

This is a labour which we have often exe- 
cuted, always Avith advantage, and never with- 
out a feeling of humility. For imless you 
have verified it, you can hardly form an idea 



THE DISCOUKSE ENDED. 

how wretched upon paper looks the most easy» 
the most elegant extemporaneous address, even 
that which produced the greatest effect at the 
moment itself; and how very much it admits of 
improvement in point of style and readableness. 
That is why orators of mark, and even of the 
highest order, whose quivering and action- 
heated eloquence moves and overcomes any 
assembly, vanish, as it were, on being perused ; 
so that on seeing the reckoning of their extem- 
poraneous harangues, divested of the accents 
of their voice, the play of their physiognomy, 
and their gestures, you ask yourself with 
amazement how such a discourse could have 
produced an effect so wondrous. It is that 
speaking and writing are not the same thing; 
people do not write as they speak, and fre- 
quently he who speaks the best knows nothing 
about writing, just as the ablest writer is not 
always capable of speaking. 

Our modest task is over; for we had, we 
repeat, no pretension of compassmg a treatise 
on the art of speaking; our single object was 
to transfer the results of our experience to 
those whose calling it is to speak in public. 
These very simple counsels, we hope, may 



CONCLUSION. 297 

prove useful to some, either by sparing them 
trials which are always painful, even v/hen 
they are productive of fruit, or by showing 
them a more easy process than their own 
or a surer way. 

However this may be, we warn them at 
parting that those alone can derive any benefit 
from our remarks, who shall have received from 
nature the gift of eloquence, and whom God, 
who is the Word by pre-eminence, shall assist 
by His grace in the management of this for- 
midable weapon, this two-edged sword, for the 
manifestation of truth, the fulfilment of His 
designs among men, and the renewal of the 
world. 



CHAP. XXVI. 

THE LOGIC OF THE OKATOK. 

If the reader fancy that we are about to assemble 
before him a formidable body of scholastic rules, 
and to enter the labyrinth of the Aristotelian 
Logic, we beg him to dismiss the apprehension. 
Our purpose is far simpler, and is limited to set- 
ting forth in an unpretending way those turns 
and connections of reasoning which, consciously 
or unconsciously, the public speaker is called 
upon to employ. Something of this detailed and 
exemplified character seems requisite to the 
American student, as an append to the sugges- 
tive and eloquent work of Monsieur Bautain. 
We shall be stYictly practical in both plan and 
execution, and when we adopt authorities the 
reader may rely upon it that good ones are fol- 
lowed, whether cited or not, in theii' own lan- 
guage. 



LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 299 

We confine ourselves to Logic so far as it con- 
cerns the orator, and we go no step further. 
The examples chosen shall be from spoken, argu- 
mentative productions, and the nomenclature 
that which has the sanction of past and present 
use. All beyond this, lies outside of our plan. 
Yet so connected are all cognate subjects of 
thought and investigation that a familiarity with 
the principles of reasoning as here stated and ap- 
plied, will not fail to introduce the reader, if the 
study be new or obscure to him, to the science 
at large. With this advantage, that the direct 
and positive examples he will meet with, taken 
from actual occasions and relating to immediate 
interests, will have infiised a vitality which is not 
found in the Tree of Porphyry, and which is want- 
ing to the mere verbalities of scholasticism. ISTo- 
thing of the kind here attempted, has yet fallen 
in our way, and believing that a desideratum. 
exists which ought to be supplied, we now pro- 
ceed^ the attempt to supply it. 

The object of all public speaking, where logic 
prevails, is to carry some point or other: to 
establish some proposition, either opposed, or 
not. All evidence — and consequently all ^roo/^ — 
is built upon the idea of a connection between 



300 LOGIC OF THE ORATOB. 

that Trhich is asserted and that which ought to 
be conceded; to wit, the point to be carried. 
What this connection is, and whether it exists or 
not, is a question of special knowledge — there- 
fore " get knowledge." The orator's logic does 
not furnish that ; it does show him how to use it 
to advantage. 

The Enthymeme is the orator's form of argu- 
ment. It is an elhptical statement of his reason- 
ing. One of his propositions is held back in his 
mind — such is the literal meaning of the term — 
the other two, only, are ex|3i'essed. For such is 
the mysterious process (to employ one of Mon- 
sieur Bautain's similitudes), of mental generation 
— ^there must be three terms, three propositions, 
three thoughts in the act of reason. The first 
two by their union engender the third. 

Take an example : The philosopher might dis- 
course thus formally, 

1. We ought to love what renders us more 

perfect. 

2. Now literature renders us more perfect, 

3. Therefore we ought to love literature. 

Deny the first proposition, and the argument 
fails ; its major premiss is gone Deny the seo 



LOGIC OF THE OEATOR. 301 

ond, it again fails : its minor premiss has disap- 
peared. But grant both, and the third, the con- 
clusion^ stands firm. 

This slow mode of statement suits not, how- 
ever, the fervid movement of the orator. He 
exclaims, " Who is it that loves not letters f 
They enrich the understanding, and refine the 
manners ; they polish and adorn humanity. Self- 
love and good sense themselves endear them to 
us, and engage us in their cultivation." Zeno 
said that the philosophic argument is like the 
human hand closed, the oratorical like the samo 
hand unfolded. 

Wheii argumentation is linked in a chain, it 
is called a Sorites. Public discourse, from time 
to time, riiakes use of it. A playful example is 
seen when the Thracians let loose a fox on a 
frozen river to try the ice. Renard put his ear 
down, and seemed to say, "Whatever makes a 
noise moves; what moves is not frozen hard; 
that which is not hard is liquid ; liquid will bend 
under weight ; therefore, if I perceive, close to 
my ear, the sound of water, it is not frozen, and 
the ice is too weak to bear me." The Thracians 
saw Renard stop, then retreat when he heard the 
sound of the water. 



302 LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 

The JEpichirema is but an involved syllogism^ 
or regular argument. Example : 

1. Whatever destroys trade is ruinous to 

Great Britaia (because it deprives the 
laborer of his ordinary means of support, 
and reduces the source of the revenue). 

2. War destroys trade (for it interrupts the 

exportation of manufactured articles). 

3. Therefore, war is ruinous to Great Britain. 

Cicero calls the Epichirema ratiocination. 
You see that it supports the chain of argument 
by subordinate proofs. It is reducible to the 
orator's purpose, as follows : 

" War is ruinous to Great Britain because it 
deprives the laborer," &c., adding all that above 
which is included in the two parentheses. This 
gives us, at once, the form of the Enthymeme. 

The Dilemma^ divides the adversary's argu- 
ment into two or more parts, and then opposes 
to each of them an unanswerable reply. It is no 
more than several Enthymemes, joined together. 

For instance (regularly in form) : 

1. He who wiites on general topics must either 
support popular prejudices^ or oppose 
them. 



LOGIC OP THE ORATOR. 303 

2. If he supports them, he will be condemned 

by the intelligent. 

3. K he opposes them, he will be condemned 

by the ignorant. 

4. Therefore he who writes on general topics, 

will be condemned. 

The orator turns the argument into an Enthy- 
meme somewhat in this way. 

He who Yv^rites on general topics will be con- 
demned, because he must either support popular 
prejudices, or oppose them. K he oppose them, 
he will be condemned by the ignorant, if he sup- 
port them, by the intelligent. 

Patrick Henry's famous oration for the war, 
runs into the form of a dilemma. He argues, 
"We must resort either to submission or to arms. 
Therefore there is no need of longer debate. 
We have tried submission in vain — and the war 
is already begun. There is no peace.' " 

The dilemma is most frequently employed for 
retort. The best way of replying to it is to show 
that the adversary has not fully, or faii-ly, suhdi- 
vided his subject. The well known dispute of 
the travellers, concerning the chamelion's color 
is an exara])le. The creattire when "produced,'* 



304 LOGIC OF THE ORATOK. 

was of no one of the colors named by the three 
dis2Jutants. 

A dilemma and its retort are seen in the often- 
quoted case of Protagoras and Enalthus. Pro- 
tagoras had taught Eualthus the art of pleading 
under the stipulation that one-half of the reward 
should be paid in advance, and the other half 
upon Eualthus' winning his first cause. Prota- 
goras soon sued Eualthus for the rest of his debt, 
and said to him : If I gain the canse^ you must 
pay me by the CourVs decree: if Hose the cause^ 
you must pay me by the terms of our agreement 
Therefore^ lohether I gain or lose the cause, you 
mMSt pay me the money. To which dilemma 
the pupil opposed another : If I gain the cause^ 
I shall not pay you by the decree of the Court. 
If I lose it, I shall not pay you by the terms of 
our agreement. Therefore, in neither case shall 
I pay you the money. Eualthus was right. No 
cause of action had yet arisen. The old plead- 
er's object was, no doubt, to furnish his young 
friend a won case, and so receive his money. 

The argument d priori is, when we appeal to a 
reasonable, natural expectancy. The magnificent 
oration of Paul before Agrippa proceeds in the d 
priori form. He describes his " manner of life 



LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 305 

from his youth," his training after the straitest 
sect of his religion, a Pharisee. The inference d 
priori must be that such a one knew well the 
prophecies of the Jews, and could wisely judge 
of their fulfilment in the Messiah. Next he re- 
cites his hitter prejudices and persecutions of 
the believers. The inference d priori must be 
that such a man would join himself to them only 
from overwhelming reasons of conviction. 

The argument d posteriori is the direct oppo- 
site of the former : it loohs hack, and from effects 
and consequences infers cauies. " If such and 
such be the effects of this law — the inequitable 
and undeniable effects, can the law itself be 
good ? — a good tree is known by its fruits, &c." 
Webster's fervid burst of declamation over the 
vision of a broken union — " States dissevered, 
discordant, belligei-^nt, a land rent with civil 
feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood" 
— is an d posteriori argument for a union " now 
and forever one and inseparable." Curran's aw- 
ftil denunciation of an Informer, " A wretch that 
is buried a man till his heart has time to fester 
and dissolve, and is then dug up a witness," 
" how the stormy wave of the multitude retired 
at his approach," &c., argues from these hideous 
V 



306 LOGIC OF THE ORATOE. 

effects that the prosecution of the government 
against Finnerty, needing and producing such in- 
struments is unrighteous, and that the jury can- 
not, in conscience, sustain it. 

The last two arguments — the d priori and the 
d posteriori — relate to time, to the future and the 
past. The argument d fortiori refers to force 
and its degrees. It very often takes the form of 
interrogation — as indeed forcible argumentation 
in general inclines to do. The ideas of less and 
greater^ then, lie under the d fortiori turn of ar- 
gument. Says Jefferson, "Sometimes it is said 
that man cannot be trusted with the government 
of himself. Can he, then, be trusted with the 
government of others f Or have we found an- 
gels, in the form of kings, to govern him ? Let 
history answer this question." 

Burke, in defending before the Bristol electors 
his course on Catholic emancipation, employs a 
powerful, implied, d fortiori argument to support 
the justice of the emancipation. The English 
Catholics were most loyal when most tempted 
not to be so. "A great terror fell upon this 
kingdom. On a sudden we saw ourselves threat- 
ened with an immediate invasion, which we were 
at that time very ill prepared to resist. You ro- 



LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 307 

member the cloud which gloomed over us all. 
In that hour of our dismay, from the bottom of 
the hiding-places into which the indiscriminate 
rigor of our statutes had driven them, came out 
the Roman Catholics. They appeared before the 
steps of a tottering throne with one of the most 
sober, measured, steady, and dutiful addresses, 
that was ever presented to the crown. At such 
a crisis, nothing but a decided resolution to stand 
or fall with their country could have dictated 
such an address, the direct tendency of which 
was to cut off all retreat, and to render them pe- 
culiarly obnoxious to an invader of their own 
communion" (France). The conclusion is obvi. 
ous — d fortiori such subjects would be loyal 
in less extraordinary times and emergencies, 
and their odious disabilities should have been 
removed. 

The speech of Anthony, as written by Shak- 
speare, in the third act of Julius Caesar, is for its 
length, unequalled, simply as an oratorical pro- 
duction, by any uninspired creation of ancient 
or modern times. That sotne speech then and 
there was delivered, and of power sufficient to 
transform the face of the Roman world, history 
attests ; that the actual effort equalled Shak- 
v2 



808 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 

speare's matchless imagery, is, at least, doubtful. 
The art of the orator plays throughout with a 
boundless fertility of resources. Argumentation 
is blended with rhetoric, and the impression is a 
diamond-like unity which is inimitable. The 
summit of the effect shoots up in the d fortiori 
form of argument. Anthony has shown the 
crowd Caesar's mantle — his familiar robe. *'You 
all do know this mantle." He associates it with 
an occasion of national pride : 

" I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on : 
'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent, 
That day he overcame the Nervii^ 

The rents of daggers in the robe are shown, 
— the ingratitude of Brutus — the broken heart of 
Caesar — the fatal fall — are pictured, and the sub- 
dued and weeping multitude are infuriated by 
this starthng transition, d fortiori — 

" What, weep you when you but behold 
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Lo ! 
Here is himself — marred, as you see, by traitors." 

The argument from example^ is based upon 
resemblance, and takes a variety of modes — such 
as instances, anecdotes, fables, comparisons- An 



LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 309 

apt citation by Menenins of the fable of the belly 
and the members, is said to have saved Rome 
from anarchy, and reunited the ai-my and people 
with the patricians. 

The argument from example, when its cases 
are multiplied, becomes an inductive argument. 
The orator's proposition is that wicked men must 
be unhappy. He cites Herod, the slayer of John 
the Baptist, and shows him devoured before his 
death by worms : Tiberius yelling with remorse 
in the caverns of Capreus ; ISTero sinking into the 
horrors of mental alienation from the visions of 
vengeance which haunted him. From history he 
assembles a multitude of fearful examples in sup- 
port of his proposition, and draws his conclusion, 
from the induction^ that happiness is not for the 
wicked. 

The inductive argument is sometimes made to 
produce a reductio ad ahsurdum^ or ad impossi- 
Mle, i. e., it proves that the conclusion attempted 
cannot be that it is absurd, impossible. Erskine, 
defending the Dean of St. Asaph, for libel against 
the government, thus employs it. 

" Every sentence contained in this little book, 
if the interpretation of the words is to be settled 
not according to fancy, but by the common rules 
V3 



310 LOGIC OP THE ORATOR. 

of language, is to be found in the brightest pages 
of English literature, and in the most sacred vol- 
umes of English laAV ; if any one sentiment from 
the beginning to the end of it be seditious oi 
libellous, the Bill of Rights was a seditious libel ; 
the Revolution was a wic«ked rebellion ; the 
existing government is a traitorous conspiracy 
against the hereditary monarchy of England ; 
and our gracious sovereign is a usurper of the 
crown of these kingdoms." 

The argumentum ad hominem^ is an enthy- 
meme which overturns the adversary's arguments 
by his own facts and words. Tuberus brought an 
accusation against Ligarius, that he had fought 
against Csesar, in Africa. Cicero defended Li- 
garius, and turned the charge against his accuser. 
" But, I ask, who says that it was a crime in Li- 
garius that he was in Africa ? It is a man who 
himsell^ wished to be there ; a man who com- 
plains that Ligarius prevented him from going, 
and one who has assuredly borne arms against 
Caesar. For, Tuberus, wherefore that naked 
sword of yours in the lines of Pharsalia ? Whose 
breast was its point seeking? What was the 
meaning of those arms of yours ? Whither 
looked your purpose? your eyes? your hand? 



LOGIC OF THE ORATOE. 311 

your fiery courage? What were you cravingj 
what wishing ?" 

This was the passage which so moved Csesai 
that the act of condemnation of Ligarius drop- 
ped from his shaking hand, and he pardoned him. 

Having thus exhibited the molds in which the 
chief arguments of the orator are cast, we next 
take up the subject of refutation. Without 
logic, rhetoric is a frivolous art, and from the sci- 
ence of reasoning it derives its strength, and 
gains admittance into the understanding. Refu- 
tation demands the greatest address of reason- 
ing, since it requires more skill to heal a wound 
than to cause it. 

In refuting your adversary's arguments you 
establish your own, but sometimes it is needful 
to tegin by disposing of his, when, for instance, 
you perceive from the impression they have 
produced, that your own proofs may be badly 
received. In doing this you must exhibit the de- 
fects of his reasoning, which may be several, as 

Ignorance of the subject. — ^Here you correct 
and rectify his statements of facts. You may 
show that if the facts were as he supposes them 
to be, his conclusion would be just, and accept- 
able. It is a very forcible way of refuting (and 
v4 



312 LOGIC OF THE ORATOE. 

often imfahiy employed), to seize some one capi- 
tal assertion of the opponent and destroy it com- 
pletely by an unanswerable citation. The effect 
IS to throw an air of distrust over all the rest. 
If this consjDicuous assertion had been dwelt 
upon, and joined with some striking rhetorical 
figure or illustration, a certain ridicule accom- 
panies its prostration, which is then complete. 
Examples of this are numerous. 

In his Oration for the Crown, Demosthenes, 
flinging back the argument of ^schines, quotes 
his exclamations, " O Earth ! O Sun ! O Vir- 
tue!" &c., in a way that shows he must have 
mimicked him with a sneermg emphasis. The 
following from Junius (the style of whose letters 
is admitted to be entu*ely oratorical) wiU briefly 
exemplify the point we are now presenting. 
To Sir W. Draper : " I could wish that you 
would pay a greater attention to the truth of 
your premises before you suffer your genius to 
hurry you to a conclusion. Lord Ligonier did 
not deliver the army (which you, in your classi- 
cal language, are pleased to call a paixadium) in- 
to Lord Granby's hands. It was taken from him 
much against his inclination, some two or three 
years be'ore Lord Granby was commander-in- 



L':>G1C OF THE OJRATOK. 313 

chief." A principal fact is flatly upset, and the 
anlucky expression seen in the parenthesis, 
heightens the effect of the retort by the ridicule 
which thus attaches to it. From the same ner- 
vous writer, the following extract presents an in- 
ductive argument along with the citation of capi- 
tal facts, the quotation of the adversary's ex- 
pression, and his conviction of ignorance of the 
subject. " You say, he (Lord Granby) has ac- 
quired nothing but honor in the field. Is the 
Ordnance nothmg ? Are the Blues nothing ? 
Is the command of the army with all the patron- 
age annexed to it, nothing? Where he got 
these nothings I know not ; but you, at least, 
' ought to have told us when he deserved them." 
Petitio principii — or begging the question. — 
This is, probably, the commonest of the fallacies 
of reasoning. It consists in giving, as proof of 
itself, the very thing to be proved. One of Mo- 
iiere's comedies ha^ a playful example. " Why ^ 
does opium produce sleep ? Because it possesses 
a soporific quality." The power to induce sleep, 
and the possession of a soporific (or sleep pro- 
ducing), quality are one and the same thing. 
Whatever is provable must be distinct from that 
which proves it — the evidence, from the thing 



314 LOGIC OF THE OKATOE. 

evidenced. "Where these two separate things 
are confounded, the petitio occurs, and the ques- 
tion is not proved but "begged." Any state- 
ment, which, instead of supporting the question, 
merely varies its expression, or assigns its inci- 
dents granting it to be true, is no more than a 
repetition of the assertion, and is no evidence 
nor proof. Such is the petitio principii^ the 
phases of which are many, and the answer is to 
distinguish the new statement from proof, and 
identify it with the original proposition — ^the con- 
sequence then drawn is that, whether the propo- 
sition be, or be not true, this does not establish 
it — as seen above in the sportive instance from 
Moliere. 

The Vicious Circle is one or more steps fur- 
ther of the question begged. You support A by 
B, B by 0, and then C by A. A is the base after 
all. Sometimes, however, two propositions may 
reciprocally support each other, without any de- 
triment to right reason — in the case, say, of one 
of them being known^ or admitted^ by the oppo- 
site party, of course you may make it the ground 
of the other. But to prove anything unknown 
by something as little or less known, or some- 
thing uncertain by another thing of equal ancer- 



LOGIC OF THE OKATOE. 315 

tainty, is to fall within the compass of the Yicious 
Circle. Mr. Fox, on Parliamentary Reform, 
thus exposes the fallacy ; " Gentlemen are fond 
of arguing in this vicious circle. When we con- 
tend that ministers have not the confidence of 
the people, they tell us that the House of Com- 
mons is the faithful representative of the sense of 
the country. When we assert that the represen- 
tation is defective, and show that the House does 
not speak the voice of the people, they turn to 
the general election, and say, that at this period 
the people had an opportunity of choosing faith- 
ful organs of their opinion ; and because very 
little or no change has taken place in the repre- 
sentation, the sense of the people must be the 
same. Sir, it is vain for gentlemen to shelter 
themselves under this mode of reasoning." 

Imperfect Enumeration. — This is the error of 
defective Induction. A generalized conclusion 
is drawn from a given number of examples, but 
other examples which conflict with the conclu- 
sion are overlooked, or left out ; as if many lakes 
of fresh water were named and the conclusion 
drawn that all snch isolated bodies of water are 
fresh, — omitting the fact of the Caspians. Or 
this, "The French are white, the English a re white, 



\ 



316 LOGIC OF THE ORATOB. 

the Italians, Germans, Russians and Americans are 
white ; therefore all men are white." The conclu- 
sion is erroneous because the enumeration is im- 
perfect. There are black men in Guinea. 

Proving too much. — The logicians say that 
that which proves too much, proves nothing. 
The common way of shaping this argument is to 
cite an example (if you cite several, the argument 
becomes inductive) equally in point as the one 
maintained, and yet evidently untenable, or ab- 
surd or impossible. Thus we may have here the 
arguments from example^ hy induction., ad homi- 
nera., and reductio ad dbsurdum and ad impossi- 
hile. In a speech in the House of Representa- 
tives on a Uniform system of Bankruptcy, John 
Sargent reasoned thus : " I fully agree that the 
principles of sound legislation are opposed to re- 
trospective laws. But what are retrospective 
laws ? A retrospective law is a law that impairs 
or affects the vested rights of individuals. Every 
man has a vested right in his property. But has 
% citizen of this or any other country, a vested 
;ight in any particular remedy., so that it can 
never, as to him, be either taken away or alter- 
ed? If the creditor has his right, so has the 
debtor ; and then the absurd consequence would 



LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 317 

follow, that if any part of the property of thf 
debtor was, "by law, exempted from liability, aS; 
for instance, his land, it could never be subjected 
to execution. If his person was not by law sub- 
ject to imprisonment, it could not be made so. 
The remedy is no part of the contracts An- 
other example of Inductive reasoning refuting 
an argument which proves too much^ from the 
same eminent statesman's speech on the Missouri 
question. "But is it essential to the character 
of a member of this Union that it should possess 
all the powers^ or even all the rights^ that be- 
longed to the original States ? It must then be 
the sovereign of all the territory within its lim- 
its. But the unappropriated lands belong to the 
United States. It must, too, have an unlimited 
right of taxation — and it must have an independ- 
ent and absolute power, extending to everything 
within its limits — for all these powers belonged 
to the original States. Then, sir, not a single 
new State (excepting Vermont) has been pro- 
perly admitted into the Union, and the practice 
of the government, from its foundation, has been 
one tissue of error and usurpation." 

Logicians call a mistaking of the question IgnO' 
ratio Slenchi, it misses the clinch or rivet of the 



318 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 

discussion. The remedy, and reply, is to re-state 
the issue. Thus Webster in his rejoinder to 
Hayne — Foote's resolution being before the 
Senate — begins by calling for the reading of the 
resolution. A clear way of stating the question 
is to put it both affirmatively and negatively — 
laying* down what it is, and distinguishing it 
from that which has been, or may be, mistaken 
for it. Mr. Prentiss, in his great argument be- 
fore the House of Representatives, on the Missis- 
sippi contested election, a speech which continued 
for three days, and won the enthusiastic applause 
of the first men of the country, makes his exor- 
dium by guarding against an ignoratio elenchi: 
" The first use I shall make of the privilege 
accorded to me will be to set the House right as 
to the attitude of the question, for I perceive that 
many members labour under a misapprehension 
on this point, and I am anxious that the position I 
occupy in the matter should be distinctly under- 
stood. I have petitioned this House for nothing ; 
neither have I memorialised it. I have presented 
myself here as a Representative from the sove- 
reign State of Mississippi, to tlie Congress of the 
United States, and claim a seat on this floor, not 
as <i matter of favour, but as a matter of right.'*^ 



LOGIC OF THE OEATOE. 319 

Analogy. — This argument is never demonstra- 
tive. It is based, not upon a dii-ect resemblance, 
but upon a resemblance of ratios. It is in form 
like a compound proportion ; as a is to B, so is c 
to D. As a son is to a parent, so is a citizen to his 
country. To upset the fallacious use of the argu- 
ment we must show that the resemblance does 
not hold good, or that it is assumed, or imagin- 
ary. A special weakness of this form of argu- 
ment (even where the analogy is net false, but 
real), is that it is at best ovl\j prohahle^ and the 
employment of it by itself is a tacit admission of 
the want or absence of true demonstrative argu- 
ment. It is a trite but important remark that 
" analogy does not necessarily lead to truth." 

The fallacy of false analogy — derived from 
the argument found in a true analogy — ^is called 
non tali pro tali — ^that is, no likeness put for a 
likeness. We will draw an example both of the 
argument, and of the refutation of the fallacy, 
from Alexander Hamilton's speech in the De- 
bates on the Constitution. 

" In my reasonings on the subject of govern- 
ment, I rely more on the interests and opinions 
of men than on any speculative parchment pro- 
•Tsions whatever. I have found that constitu- 



820 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 

tions are more or less excellent, as they are more or 
less agreeable to the natural operation of things. 
But, say gentlemen, the members of Congress 
T^ill be interested not to increase the number [of 
Representatives], as it will diminish their relative 
influence. In all their reasoning nj^on the subject, 
there seems to be this fallacy. They suppose that 
the Representative will have no motive of action, 
on the one side, but a sense of duty ; or on the 
other, but corruption. They do not reflect that 
he is to return to the community," <fcc., &c. The 
last part is the refutation of an incomplete induc- 
tion. In the follomng paragraph, Hamilton 
replies to the argument of a false analogy. " It 
is a harsh doctrine, that men grow wicked in 
proportion as they improve and enlighten their 
minds. Experience has by no means justified 
us in the supposition that there is more virtue 
in one class of men than in another. Look 
through the rich and the poor of the community, 
the learned and the ignorant. Where does vir- 
tue predominate ? The difference indeed con- 
sists, not in the quality, but kind of vices wliich 
are incident to various classes," <fcc., &c. He de- 
nies that the asserted ratio is found to exist, and 
appeals to example, which developed, would 



LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 821 

be an induction of the facts, for proof of his 
denial. 

Fallacy of Interrogation. — ^We have al- 
ready remarked how conspicuous interrogations 
frequently become, in rapid and imperative ora- 
torical reasoning; the reader has also seen an 
example in the extract from an oration of Cice- 
ro's. The fallacy in the employment of this in- 
strument consists in varying the queries in such 
a way as to hastitute really another inquiry while 
appearing to adhere to the question at issue. 
This fallacy is plainly referrible to that of irrele- 
vant conclusion. The remedy is to re-affirm, 
and return to the question. It may likewise be 
sometimes overthrown by means of a parallel 
series of counter-questions. AH depends upon a 
clear comprehension of the subject-matter, and a 
distinct statement of the issue. 

To the same head may be referred the amhi- 
guity of terms^ where a term is employed in dif- 
ferent senses. Knowledge of the language and 
of the special terminology, is the resource against 
the fallacy — which is a fruitful cause not only oi 
self-deception, but of sophistical argumentation. 
As Aristotle remarks, all the fallacies may be 
referred to ignoratio elenchi^ to mistake of the 



322 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 

proposition, or misapprehension, or ignorance of 
it. Hence the capital importance of a cUat 
statement of the proposition. As Lord Coke 
says with respect to a legal issue in pleading — 
it should be single., certain., material., and triable. 
Quitting now the second branch of oratorical 
logic, that is, refutation., we shall endeavour to 
elucidate a very valuable device of argumenta- 
tive reasoning which seems to have been too 
much overlooked by writers on the science. We 
shall call it reasoning hy tests. It is a sort of 
short-hand process of investigating, illustrating 
and proving, and is allied to the citation of a 
leading fact, or facts, heretofore mentioned. 
The orator seizes certain determinating princi- 
ples, certain limiting conditions, or depicts some 
prominent features of the case in point, and 
makes these representative., or determinative of 
the whole business. A similar expedient is found 
in the concise language of the mathematics, 
where the power of a quantity, its root, &c., are 
signified by indices. It not only renders the 
process of exposition simple and more apprehen- 
sible, but the grasp of the reasoning foculties 
upon the subject thereby becomes, at one and 
the same time, more comprehensive and moi'e 



LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 323 

firm. Into narrative it infuses life by the rojeo 
tion of useless details, into the statement of the 
subject it distributes light and clearness, and 
pours energy into the argumentation by the con- 
centration which attends it. The extreme oppo- 
site style, of an exhaustive detail of undiscrimi- 
nated minutiae, has every fault of the contrary 
kind. It was such an exhibition that once caused 
Chief Justice Marshall at length to inform au 
unwearied pleader that he might "omit some 
of his points and safely assume that the supreme 
court of the United States did know something J*^ 

If we were regularly treating the whole sub- 
ject of logic, it would be proper to point out at 
large the principles which preside in this process 
of contracting thought and language. But this 
must be left to a few useful examples — with the 
general remark that the reader must expect to 
find the principles in media^ and by means of 
classification, — the former implying extension in 
his knowledge, the latter its systematic arrange- 
ment. 

Burke, on the East India Bill — arguing the 
abuse of powers by the Company, says : 

" The principle of buying cheap and selling 
dear is the first, the great foundation of mercan- 



324 LOGIC OF THE OEATOR. 

tile dealing. Have they ever attended to this 
principle?" &c., &c. 

" A great deal of strictness in driving bargains 
for whatever we contract is another princij)le of 
mercantile policy. Look at the contracts that 
are made for them," &c. 

" It is a third property of trading men to see 
that the clerks do not divert the dealings of the 
master to their own benefit," &c. 

"It is a fourth quality of a merchant to be ex- 
act in his accounts. What will be thought when 
you have fully before you the mode of account 
ing made use of in the treasury of Bengal?' 
&c., &c. 

"It is a fifth quality of a merchant to calculate 
his probable profits upon the money he takes up 
to vest in business," &c., &c. He goes on to ap- 
ply these tests to the affairs of the East India 
Company. 

The finest orators abound in examples of the 
display of this powerful principle, and none more 
than Demosthenes and Cicero. I am tempted 
to translate an instance from the former ; it oc- 
curs in his Oration for the Crown. 

" What should, lohat could, an Athenia'i ora- 
tor do f Detect the evil in its birth, make others 



LOGIC OF THE DBATOR. 325 

see it. I have done so. Guard, as far as possi- 
ble, against delays, false pretexts, strife of inter- 
ests, mistakes, errors, obstacles of every hind, too 
common amongst allied and jealous republics. 
This I did. Attach all difficidties with zeal, and 
ardor, in the love of duty, of friendship and 
concord. I did it. On every one of these points, 
I defy the detection of a fault in my conduct. If 
it is demanded, How then has Philip triumphed ? 
the whole world will answer for me : By his all- 
conquering arms, by his all-corrupting gold. It 
was not for me to combat the one or the other. 
I had no treasures, no soldiers. But with what I 
did have, I dare to assert that I conquered Phi- 
lip. How? By rejecting his bribes, by resist- 
ing his corruption. When a man lets himself be 
bought, his buyer may be said to triumph over 
him ; but he who remains uncorruptible, has tri- 
umphed over the corrupter. And thus, so far as 
it depended upon Demosthenes, Athens was vic- 
torious, Athens was invincible." 

Here we might at once close the subject, hav- 
ing named, described, and illustrated from living 
examples, the principles of logic as applicable to 
argumentative speaking. And we believe that 
the knowledge of what is laid down in this chap 



326 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 

ter will prove of material assistance, not only in the 
business of public speaking, but in that of analys- 
ing and judging of what is spoken by others. 
Our purpose does not extend to anything beyond 
the title of the chapter, and is therefore confined 
to convincing^ not persuasive oratory, and has 
naught to do with Rhetoric. As, however, Logic 
and Rhetoric are intimately connected, and 

" Thin partitions do their walls divide," 

It seems proper enough to say somewhat upon 
the disposition of discourse, and the order of 
arguments. It is not enough, says Montesquieu, 
to exhibit many things to the understanding; you 
must exhibit them in order. 

Rhetoricians reckon six parts of a discourse, 
viz., the exordium, proposition, narration, proof, 
refutation, peroration. Not that all these neces- 
sarily enter into it, but that they may do so. 
The first and last, are, in general, reserved for 
uncommon occasions. In business speaking, de- 
bate, &c., a man rises, perhaps, with a paper in 
his hand, a resolution, or what not. He may be- 
gin by citing a remark just made by another 
speaker, &c., &c. He finishes more or les3 
abruptly, so soon as he lias brought out the state- 



LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 827 

ment of Ms facts, or opinion. Cicero says that 
one must join to the regular disposition, anotlier 
sort which avoids the rigor of precepts and ac- 
commodates itself to circumstances, and that the 
art itself commands you to renounce, at times, 
the precepts of art in the order of your discourse. 
As to the choice of proofs. It is better to re- 
ject the light and feeble ones, and to insist upon 
those which are strong and convincing — present 
these latter distinctly, and to do so, separate 
them ; but feebler ones should be treated in the 
opposite way, i. e. bound together like the bun- 
dle of sticks in the fable. Here is an example 
from Quintilian. He supposes a man to be ac- 
cused of killing another whose heir he had hoped 
to be, and he combines several circumstances to 
prove the accusation. "You hoped to receive 
an inheritance — a rich inheritance ; you were in 
great indigence, and actually beset by your cre- 
ditors. You had offended the man whose heir 
you expected to be, and you knew that he con- 
templated changing his will." No one of these 
arguments alone, says Quintilian, has any great 
weight, but, taken together, if they strike not 
like the lightnmg, yet like hail they come down 
with repeated blows. 



828 LOGIC OF THE ORATOR. 

The order of 'proofs is of most importance. 
The natm-al method, according to the subject 
treated, is to preserve such a succession, as may, 
step bj step, open the matter to the mind of the 
auditor, and link the parts so together that the 
chain of evidence and argumentation may arrest 
and enveloj)e the mind which responds to truth 
and reason. Many Rhetoricians think that the 
best arrangement of arguments is that which be- 
gins with the more feeble and rises successively 
to the most cogent, so that the reasoning gathers 
strength as it advances — semper aitgeatur et cres- 
cat orator. This is an excellent disposition, un- 
doubtedly, where the case admits of it. But in 
general, the best order is that which, at the be- 
ginning projects some forcible arguments which 
may open the way to a favourable attention and 
conviction, reserves some striking and decisive 
ones for the close, and disposes the less powerful 
proofs midway between the first and last. This 
is called by Quintilian the Homeric order, be- 
cause such is the order of battle of which we read 
m Homer. Nestor, arraying his troops, puts in 
front the elite of the armed chariots, next the 
less reliable body of soldiers, and last, in reserve, 
a brave and numerous infantry. 



CHAPTER xxym. 

THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 

In treating this branch of the art, we shall be as 
plain as possible. In the first place, as experi- 
ment is out of the question, we must endeavour 
to establish an understanding mth the reader by 
descriptions of the phenomena which will be re- 
ferred to. 

The kind of voice adapted to the exercise and 
business of public speaking, is not the voice of 
ordinary conversation. It is a larger utterance. 
The sound originates deeper, possesses more 
sweU, is longer dra^vu out, flies to a greater dis- 
tance. 

It is not the singing voice. The difference 
between these two, every ear perceives and ap- 
preciates. 

Between the speaking and the singing voice is 
interposed the voice of recitative. 

The speaking voice, either developed or not, is 
possessed by all men in different degrees, but 



330 THB VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 

not in a high degree by any who are unpractised 
in its employment. 

Let the reader imagine himself calling to a 
person at the distance of seventy or eighty feet 
from him. Let him answer suddenly and earn- 
estly, No ! Let him ask the question, How ? 
Let him give warning — Fly! Fiee! If he 
perform these experiments fairly and justly, he 
will not fail to employ in them his speaking voice. 
In doing this, certain observations will occur to 
him. He will perceive that the mouth and throat 
are more opened, than in ordinary speech, and 
that he has dwelt longer on the sounds: the 
chest will have been more exhausted of its air, 
and he will probably have found it needful as a 
preliminary to draw a quick inspiration, before 
sending forth the sudden compact volume of 
sound. The part of the voice thus abruptly call- 
ed into play, will be the upper part of it. Espe- 
cially is this the case if the vocal organs be im- 
trained, for it is only a pretty well exercised hu. 
man voice that can so exert and display itself on 
its lower notes. 

The first attainment of vocal power, is quan- 
tity — the ability to continue the sound, to elon- 
gate the utterance. The reader may consider 



THE VOICE Is PUBLIC SPEAKING. 3S1 

that time in utterance, in other words extended 
quantity, is a condition of being heard. Sound 
traverses space at a certain definite rate, and syJ 
lables grow indistinct to the ear, from the effect 
of distance, as objects do to the eye. Hence, in 
both cases, they must be enlarged in order to be 
well perceived. Syllables, rapidly enunciated, 
cannot be caught in their due proportions by the 
ear at a distance, as experiment easily demon- 
strates. "We insist, therefore, rigorously upon 
this first quality and eminent distinction of the 
speaking voice — quantity — as directly related to 
both time and space. 

As a first exercise, for breaking in the voice 
to its function of public and expanded utter- 
ance, a table of vowel sounds is here furnished. 
The words adjoined are the sounds to be 
used in practice. 

a as in March ! Afar ! 

a as in Halt ! Call ! 

a as in Hail ! A sail ! Awake ! 

o as in Cold ! N'o. Unfold. Wo I 

i as in Fire ! Rise ! Deny. 

00 as in Whoop ! Do. Cool. 

ee as in Heed. . Weep. Speed I 



332 THE V(nCE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 

oi as in Boy ! Deploy. IsToise. 
u as in Hew ! Muse. Furies. 

There is no difficulty in separating the vowel 
sounds on the left out of the words on the right, 
above, but at the beginning it is better to prac- 
tise the loords^ and to attach a meaning, and in- 
fuse an intentional emphasis, into them. Sound 
and sense should not be divided in speech. The 
learner may drawl the words, by way of occa- 
sional experiment, and in order to mark to his 
ear the significant properties of great, prolonged 
quantity. A voice quite unused to this sort of 
exertion can rarely perform it, at once, in a satis- 
factory manner. Some time, and some repeti- 
tion, are necessary to give the instrument of vo- 
cality the requisite degree of expansion. The 
want of this expansion, and of the flexibility 
which attends it, is no doubt the cause, together 
with a hurried execution, of so many injured, 
and indeed, ruined voices among public speakers. 
I think Roger Ascham it is who asserts that of 
all human functions that of the voice is the most 
improvable. And as to the influence of its judi- 
cious exercise upon the health, Dr. Rush attri- 
butes the comparative freedom of the Germans 



THE YOICE II^- PUELIC SPEAKING. 333 

from pulmonary affections, to their much use of 
the voice in vocal music. Let the practice of 
elocution, therefore, be moderate always at first, 
and nQYQT forced, at any time. Ease and pleas- 
antness, is a pretty good criterion of correctness 
in the execution of exercises. Is the perform- 
ance of any normal function, unaccompanied 
with pleasure ? 

Following the tenor of these injunctions, the 
learner will soon discover a growing improve- 
ment. Let him, then, fix his attention, if the op- 
portunity offers, upon any public speaker, and 
the extreme probability is that he will observe 
something of this sort. The speaker's voice, in 
the course of its flight, will exercise a manifest 
choice among the vowel sounds which are ranged 
in the foregoing table. This will be carried so far 
as, at times, to interfere with the due emphasis. 

The sounds oiee and oo are the most trying to 
the voice, those of a (in far) and o (in bold) are 
in general the easiest. The former of these is 
that which the infant makes his debUt upon. The 
cause of all this is an organic one, existing in the 
formation of the throat. There are comparatively 
few voices which can emphasize at will, and with 
equal indifference, aU these long vowel sounds. 



334 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 

It is worth while to examine a certain con- 
nexion which subsists amongst the foregoing 
sounds. Ee and oo, you will find, in prolonging 
them, are pure, unmixed vowels ; they begin and 
terminate in the one sound. Not so with the 
others. The first two a's (those in far and in 
halt) end on a faint sound of u — as in hurr. All 
the rest vanish either in ee or in oo. Ee and oo, 
are in efiect the media between vowel and con- 
sonant sounds. Ee is y and oo is w, when they 
are abbreviated. Ee-ou and you, oo-ave and wave, 
can the ear detect any real difierence ? The two 
difficult sounds, viz., ee and oo are the shibboleth 
of public speakers, few of whom do not, at times, 
throw a wrong emphasis, in order to let the voice 
light on some other vowel which it can play upon 
with better effect. I advise the young speaker 
to devote his continual attention to these two 
sounds, dwelling on them long, swelling them, 
forming sentences to practice, out of words 
which embody them, &c. The purpose is not 
alone the obtaining of a control over these two 
themselves, but he will be certain to find that he 
has along with that, acquired an expansion of the 
voice which will be perceived decidedly on all 
the other easier vowel sounds. 



THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 335 

The usual division of the pitch of the voice is 
into upper, middle and lower, and this will an- 
swer our present purpose. Everybody knows 
that usually, in asking a question, the voice runs 
from low to high, and in answering, it turns its 
course, running downward. Now exaggerate 
this phenomenon, in order to examine it well. 
One calls to another, at some distance, to learn 
what he wants, " The lallP' " No ! the skate !" 
These contrary movements of the voice, found 
universally, would here present themselves. The 
more intensified the inquiry and reply, the fur- 
ther up and down would the vocal slide proceeds 
Elocutionists of very different schools (as Smart, 
and Rush) recommend the practice of these 
slides. You take the vowels in the foregoing ta- 
ble, and beginning low down in pitch slowly and 
continually glide upward to the vanishing point 
— a mewing sort of sound will result — reverse the 
direction of the voice, letting it descend as low 
as convenient. Apply the same movements to 
the words also. 

We must now form a second table of vowel 
sounds, which will consist of the short vowels of 
our tongue, as follows : 



336 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKIiTG. 

i as in ill, pit, wit. 

e as in let, dwell, men. 

o as in bog, hollow, not. 

a as in hag, lambent, clan. 

u as in hurl, cur, burden. 

i as in sir, mirth, hers, err. 

o as in book, push, full, 

u as in cut, flutter, cull. 

On these sounds the voice can glide readily up 
and down, as on the long ones, but in general it 
strikes them more rapidly, and emphasises them 
with less quantity. An exercise on these vowel 
sounds similar to that prescribed for the former 
ones, is recommended. And, let it be noticed 
that those others are susceptible of a brief, firm, 
stress, as well as these. That is, these can be 
prolonged, and those contracted in their utter- 
ance. 

We must finish the exposition of the alphabet 
in regard to its spoken qualities, before fiirnish- 
ing some fuller examples for practice. The state- 
ment is an old one, and is still repeated in the 
elementary books — that a consonant cannot he 
sounded hy itself. If it really could not be 
sounded nlone, it certainly never could be in 
combination — for what would the combination be 



THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 387 

composed of? Let us try an experiment, on the 
child's lesson in syllables. Says the young spel- 
ler — a — ^b, ah. Now take away the a, and what 
can then be enunciated is the sound of h. All — 
take the a from the syllable and the remnant of 
sound is 1, which you may continue as long as 
you please. The mistake arises from confounding 
the name with the power of the consonant. 

The reader will find not the least difficulty in 
enunciating all the consonantal sounds, separate- 
ly. Now some of these can be prolonged, and 
some, are, by nature, short. Those that can 
be prolonged are placed below, in the order 
of theii' capability of quantity. L, m, n, r, 
(final) are those usually called liquids. They all 
take quantity. Z, zh, th, b, d, v, ng, g, j, also 
admit of prolongation — ^the rest do not. The 
former should be run up and down, as in ques- 
tioning and replying. Try I, for example. You 
will readily find that you could employ it as a 
syllable and ask a question, or give an answer 
upon it alone. Doing this, you have the ready 
key to the utterance of all the others. 

Orthoepists agree in enforcing the principle 
that the consonants must never be prolonged — 
any of them — before a vowel in the same syllable. 
X 



838 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 

For instance, you may pronounce swe-U — pro- 
longing tlie 1 — but never 1-ove or ^ow, elongating 
the initial 1 ; it is a barbarism. To what use does 
the voice put this property in the consonants 
of admitting length of sound? A very simple 
and effective one indeed. The voice makes this 
property a means of adding to the great resource 
of quantity in syllables. It distributes a part of 
the sound over the consonant. 

Let the reader turn to the table of short vow- 
els, take the first word, and ask a sudden and ex- 
cited question on it, thus — ill? He will find 
that the sound, quitting the vowel, rises on the 
continued enunciation of the I. Hence the need 
of being able to prolong those of the consonant 
elements which admit of prolongation. The ef- 
fect, as respects syllables, is to add to the number 
of long ones, in speech, varying thus the resour- 
ces of quantity. We here complete that indis- 
pensable basis of the subject, the alphabet of 
speech. It is seen that there is a wide difference 
between the elements as spoken and as spelled — 
for example meat and meet^ sea and see^ contain 
all the same spoken vowel, or vowel sound. 

"We proceed to describe some exercises of the 
vocal organs which tend dii-eotly to fit them for 



THE VOICE IX PUBLIC SPEAKING. 339 

the severe exertion of public speaking. Several 
of these have not before appeared in print, but 
the learner may safely rely upon them, and trial 
will furnish a sufficient evidence of their utility. 

In all ordinary cases, what the voice requires 
is expansion — a setting it free from the narrow 
modes of action of conversation and business. 
We do not now refer to depth proper, which re- 
lates to the scdle^ and is expressed by up and 
down, high and low ; but the meaning is, that 
whether the pitch be high or low, a fuller, broad- 
er sound — more volume — is, generally, the re- 
quu'ement of the unexercised voice. Breadth is 
precisely the property we refer to as that which 
is usually wanting, and to its attainment the first 
efforts should be addressed. Were there space, 
we might explain how this quality of speech and 
utterance is connected with vocal function, but 
at present it suffices to describe it and indicate 
the modes of attaining it — the practitioner's own 
observation and experience will carry him further 
afterward. 

Breath being the raw material out of which 
vocality is shaped, the first alteration of breath- 
ing into voice may be said to be the whisper, 
and that is the last form in which the human 
x2 



840 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKIN'G. 

7oice manifests itself — the sigh of death is atter- 
ance without articulation. Aspiration is the in- 
termediary between resonant sound and breath- 
ing, and in that sort of passionate exertion in 
which voice is, as it were, choked by excess of 
feeling, it descends into whisper and aspiration. 
The letter A, as a sound, will thus be seen to be 
intimately connected with the radical functions 
of speech. Dr. Rush, in his " Philosophy of the 
Voice," fully recognizes this fact. 

Let us invite notice to the common phenome- 
non of the sound an engine makes at a railway 
depot. The slowly-escaping steam sends forth 
an expiration not unlike the vocal quality of the 
letter h. If the reader put the aspirate h before 
each of the long vowels, and draw them out in a 
low, prolonged effort, in imitation of the sound 
just indicated, he will hit the idea we are trying 
to express. The sound meant is not a whisper, 
not husky, but it is round and full, a not unmusi- 
cal murmur. The exercise may run from high to 
low, and the contrary, on all the vowels. Its 
effect is to mellow, deepen, soften and expand 
the tones of the voice. 

Listening again to the engine about to start 
away, the steam, dry and clear, bursts forth in a 



THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 341 

deafening volume, it has found full voice, the muf- 
fled expiration is merged into pure resonant 
sound, the pitch is so high that it is shrill. Take, 
now, again, the long vowels, and putting h be- 
fore each of them in tm-n, throw the voice intc 
its upper keys, as far up the scale as is conveni- 
ent, and pronounce, somewhat forcibly, and with 
reasonable length, the syllables Hee, hoo, hay, 
hah, haw, ho, how, high, hew, hoi. This is a 
severe exercise. It will tire the muscles of the 
neck. Pause five or ten minutes when fatigued, 
and repeat the exercise on the middle of the 
voice. Finish by applying it with strength on 
the lower notes. . Your ear will discover, very 
early, that the contracted, thin, inefficient quali- 
ty of the utterance yields to this exercise. The 
kind of sound produced is true effective vocality, 
not dissimilar to that heard in the second in- 
stance, from the locomotive engine. 

There is a mode of exerting the voice in speech 
which, in importance, rivals that on which we have 
been dwelling. Quantity is distinguished by 
time ; this other is marked by impulse. The 
former regards extension, and the latter concen- 
tration of vocal effort. The two are the great 
governing articles of speech, however speech may 



342 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKIXG. 

be employed. We now invite the reader's atten- 
tion to the exposition of the second element, 
w^hich may be called stress. 

Whenever the animal organism is about to 
make a strenuous momentary effort there is a 
preparatory movement. Be it to Uft, to leap, to 
strike, the breath is dra^VQ deeply and the orifice, 
of breathing is shut, and from the chest so filled 
and enlarged the act originates, and without this 
preparative it is impossible. The same holds 
good in vocal effort, taking place when a sudden, 
violent outcry is to be made. All experience 
agrees in this fact, hence the philosophy of it 
raay be here omitted. 

If the pupil will, then, draw a full breath, — as 
if about to lift a heavy weight — shutting the 
epiglottis for one instant, and at the next impel 
\> lui a decisive effort, any one of the long vow- 
els — a(h) for example — he will have " exploded^* 
the vowel. This needs not be done violently. A 
little practice will enable the ear to discover that 
the sound is a pure and abstracted form of that 
which plays a conspicuous part in oral language. 
At first, the short vowels are the easier to mani- 
fest the quality of stress, but the practice should 
oxtend to all the vowel sounds, and, afterward, 



THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 343 

should include words. Judiciously performed, 
this exercise strengthens the voice, and renders 
it, in a high degree, audible — ^but the excess of it 
is not to be recommended — as it involves a cer- 
tain harshness of character. In general, the ex- 
tended sound of the long vowels, together with 
the abrupt utterance of the short ones, in the un- 
accented syllables, makes up the agreeable diver- 
sity of human speech. The learner is recommend- 
ed to attain the power of leaning and continu- 
ing his voice with great deliberateness on all the 
vowels, and likewise that of striking them all with 
a prompt, free, and tripping utterance. These two 
lessons accomplished, and another, of varying the 
pitch, that is, going in turn, easily into the different 
elevations of the voice, will be a good deal gained 
for the purposes of effective speaking or reading. 
As to the scale, a part of what we have already 
prescribed will assist in regard to it. An addi- 
tional exercise is to select some lines, and begin- 
ning them in the lowest pitch gradually rise, in 
reading them, to the highest, and inversely. 
Walker prescribes, for this purpose, the recita- 
tion of the terrible adjuration of Macbeth to the 
Witches, in Shakspeare. It is a great cause of 
monotony, that of not varying sufficiently the 
x4 



844 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 

pitch. Slight variations even, would relieve the 
sameness, both to the ear of the hearer and to 
the organs of the speaker. The power, to speak 
long and with the exertion of force, is large- 
ly dependent upon proper variety — in pitch, in 
time, rate of utterance, and modes of emphasis. 
Besides it is the natural way, and therefore easy 
and agreeable. 

We are now to speak of that important matter 
Emphasis. To do this in a satisfactory manner, 
there must be some elehientary points first incul- 
cated. Many readers will be aware already that 
the force of the voice may fall, vnth diverse ef- 
fects, upon different parts of the emphatic syllar 
ble. Dr. Rush has beautifully elucidated this 
topic, so obscure and indefined, before he wrote 
upon it. You may strike the first part of the 
syllable with a disproportionate force as in im- 
perative emphasis, as " Go." " Die." " Come," 
uttered passionately. 

The middle may receive the distinction by 
opening softly on the syllable, swelling the tone 
as it advances, and letting it fail, or faint away 
toward the close — " Glorious.''' "Harwomous 
mysteries." " To die:' " To sleep.'' 

It mav be the end of the svHablos that the 



THE VOICE IX PUBLIO SPEAKES-G. 345 

voice presses upon — as, " You^ Prince of Wales?" 
"Ztold. you so ?" It is a sort of jerk at the end. 

Many persons, m ordinary t^alking, indulge 
themselves in one or other of these forms of em- 
phasis, to the neglect of the others, but all are 
constantly met with, and will be readily identi- 
fied by an attentive observer. The first and 
second are more used in public utterance than 
the last ; but he who is called to . address bodies 
of men, ought to accustom himself to putting 
any one of these forms on all the vowel sounds, 
and also on words chosen for the purpose. 

The foregoing are ways of renderiug single 
words conspicuous ; but, generally, any marked 
alteration in the ordinary current of discourse 
bestows emphasis. A change from vocalising to 
whispering is one very significant means of em- 
phasizing ; a sudden descent, or rise, in the scale, 
is anotlier. A change in force, in the rate of the 
utterance, a pause more or less prolonged, are all 
means of giving emphasis, that is, distinction to 
portions of discourse. These latter belong rather 
to clauses and sentences, than to single words. 
For one example of a single way, let us suppose 
the passionate and insulting expression. You lie, 
is uttered. K the first word is spoken in a low 



346 THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 

key, and the second far up the scale, with the 
force on the first part of the vowel ^, and this 
latter afterward continued doAvnward, the feeling 
which accompanies it will have been expressed. 

The subject of accent has employed and defied 
the ingenuity of scholars, for ages. But this is 
because there exist no sufficient data to deter- 
mine clearly the nature of the Greek and Latin 
accentuation. As respects a living tongue the 
case is quite otherwise. In our English, every 
word of more than one syllable has one of them 
distinguished by accent — that is, it has more of 
the force of the voice upon it. Now it is found 
that the voice cannot conveniently interpose be- 
tween two accented syllables more than four un- 
accented ones. In rude languages, they cannot 
permit even so many. Ellis, in his " Poljmesian 
Researches," found that the natives regularly ac- 
cented every other syllable. A similar fact is per- 
ceived among the American tribes. We prono auce 
the word Seminole (in four syllables) with one 
accent, the people of that tribe call the name 
Seminole. The name of one of their chiefs is pro- 
noimced by the whites, llolatoochee, by the 
Indians, Holiitoochee. 

The organs cannot enunciate consecutively , 



THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 34^ 

without an hiatus, two accented syllables. This 
may be considered an ultimate fact of human 
speech. Keep — pace, for instance, with the accent 
on each word, must have an interval of pause 
between them ; the article the can be put between 
them without the least addition to the time of 
the whole utterance. This accentual pause, ex- 
ercises an important influence over emphasis. It 
serves to confer time on that kind of emphatic 
syllables which is incapable of prolongation, and 
obtains in this way the advantage of quantity. 
To exemplify this interesting phenomenon — 

" Cut — short aU intermission. 
Front — to front bring thou," etc. 

Shakspeare. 

That is, the time which cannot be expended 
upon the short syllables is apportioned to them 
in the form of pausing. I hope the intelligent 
reader sees what an unforceful blunder it is 
in a speaker to disregard this vocal principle, 
which, duly observed, assists the utterance, 
the breathing, the sense, and the ear of the 
auditor. Take, for a further example, the furious 
exclamation of Coriolanus, " Cut me to pieces !" 
Here the two unaccented syllables, "me to" 
fill up what before in " Cut — short" was assigned 



348 THE VOICE IX PUBLIC SPEAKINO. 

to an accentual pause. The whole time of the 
two clauses is equal. 

From the former principle the next is at once 
derived. The voice passes lightly over the un- 
accented syllables, and skips, or steps, from 
accent to accent. Speech is thus reduced to 
measure. In the lines from Pope, which follow, 
the spaces separate the measures. 

" Why then, a Borgia, or a Catiline ? 
Who knows but He whose hand the lightning forms, 
Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms ?" 

An advantage from the practise of reading the 
various kinds of verse, is that the voice becomes 
habituated to observe measure duly. But prose 
likewise requires it, and ease and force of deliv- 
ery imperatively demand a proper conformity 
to it. 

Emphasis always falls, by necessity, upon some 
accented syllable. The effect of accent is to dis- 
tinguish words one from another. They are 
known as separate words by means of the accent 
which ties together the several syllables. A 
proof of this may be seen by the experiment of 
misplacing the accents on a succession of words 
which compose a sentence. A jargon will result. 



THE VOICE m PUBLIC SPEAKIK-G. 349 

which, if intelligible at all, is so only by reason 
of the resemblance to what is previously known 
under true accentuation. What belongs to 
accent extends itself to emphasis. ' Without 
accent, words would not be distinguished from 
one another; without emphasis, clauses would 
not be. The syllable accented distinguishes the 
word, the word emphasized gives meaning to the 
sentence. 

But emphasis demands yet more. It requires 
a pause after each subdivision into which it cuts 
discourse. The breathing asks for this, as well as 
the ear. The ear requires it because it can take 
in the -^ord with its accent, mthout necessarily 
any pause, from knowing the word already, but 
the clause of emphasis it has to learn, and these 
must be separated and distinguished by interven- 
ing pauses, or the ear cannot make the arrange- 
ment of the sense. We mean, then, in fine, that 
emphasis ties together words into detached 
groups, forming, as it were, a species of longer 
words ; that pauses interpose between this longer 
sort of words, and hence, that pauses, that is, the 
principal ones, for the most part, depend on em- 
phasis. Emphasis is the law and life of discourses 
Better that all else go wrong than it. 



360 THE VOICE IN PtJBLiC SPEAKING. 

Trusting that the reader will not lightly pasa 
over the principles now inculcated, we shall pro- 
ceed to put down a number of illustrative exam- 
ples of these emphasis-words — calling them 
thus in order to fix the idea : 

" But-with-the /roM)C!j-c? he-was-fierce-as^re." 

The italicized words are to the clauses of 
meaning what accent is to individual words. 

"Powrec?-through-the mellow horn her-pensi ve-sowi 
InAxoWovf -murmurs died-a.wa.y.^^ 

"6^'ace-was-in-all-her motions Heaven-m-heT-eje. 
In-evevj- action dijnity-a.nd-love.^^ 

^*Alexander-a.t-a,-fesiSt aurronnded-hy-Jlatterers heated- 
vfiih-wine overcome-by -anger led-by-a.-co7icubi7ie is- 
a-foTcihle-example th&t-the-conqneTOv-oi-kingdojns may- 
have-neglected-the-conquest-of /imsc//." 

" I-have-but-07ie-larap by-which-wt/-feet-are-gaided 
smd-that is-tlie-lamp-of-ea;/?mence." 

" Whence and what ar^tliou ezecrable-shsi^e ?" 

" lf-ihon-dost-sla7ider her and torture-me 
Never-pray-more a6a7ic?on-all-remor3e." 

The foreo'oino: must suffice for illustrations of 
the principles, wliich the reader can readily 
apply to any desirable extent. He will see that 



THE VOICE ll!f PUBLIC SPEAKING-. 351 

the thought governs the expression absolutely, 
and that the due interchange of sound and silence 
is intelligible speech. 

In essaying to speak to bodies of men, the first 
and chief thing is to hit rightly, with due quan- 
tity and stress, those commanding words in the 
discourse, to which the others annex themselves, 
and to which they are subordinated. On each 
of them send forth the voice in the manner 
described at the beginning — ^loudly, and even 
violently at first, if needful. And be persuaded 
that speaking and talking. are not the same thing, 
whatever maybe said about a " ?za^wra^ " man- 
ner, and so forth. To impress masses of listeners, 
there must be something more strenuous than 
ordinary talk. IN'ot thus did the Athenian 
"fulmine over Greece," nor TuUy — who calls 
the right arm the weapon of the orator — sway 
the Roman senate. 

The following short extract from Webster's 
address on the centennial birthday of Washing- 
ton we select to be spoken. The words where 
the vigor of the voice should be felt are marked. 
We advise that the learner quit the tone of con- 
versation, and setting his utterance free from its 
trammels and bondage, urge it forth in broad, 



352 THE VOIOE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 

prolonged, emphatic speaking. Let him possess 
his mind with the determination of controlling 
an audience, and carrying their full feelings along 
with him. 

" But let us hope for bettek things. Let us 
trust in that gracious Being who has hitherto 
held our country as in the hollow of his hand. 
Let us trust to the influence of Washington's 
example. A hundred years hence, other disci- 
ples of Washington will celebrate his birth with 
NO LESS of sincere admiration than we now com- 
memorate it. When they shall meet, as we 
NOW meet, to do themselves and him that 
honor, so SURELY as they shall see the blue 
SUMMITS of his native mountains rise in the hori- 
zon, so surely may they see, as we now see, 
the FLAG of the Union floating on the top of 
the Capitol ; and then, as now, may the sun in 
his course visit no land more free, more happy, 
more lovely, than this our oavn country." 

So soon as the learner shall have caught the 
way of utterance which belongs to the extraordi- 
nary occasions of public sj)eaking, so soon as he 
shall begin to be able to manifest it in single 



THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 353 

words and next on brief clauses, he will be able 
to advance to the complete attainment of the 
speaking voice. I think the acquisition is not 
much unlike learning to swim — it is something 
new attained, and once gotten is never lost. Of 
its value and popular appreciation, we need not 
stop to say anything. 

In '' Gardiner's Music of ISTature," it is shown 
that a musical sound flies further than another 
kind of sound. He says that at a distance from 
Donnybrook, when the great fair was going for- 
ward, the notes of the violins caiiie clear and dis- 
tinct to the ear, while the duller noises and din 
that prevailed around them were lost, or reduced 
to a faint murmur. The same writer states that 
the connoisseurs did not seek the nearest seats 
when Paganini played in England, but preferred 
more retired places, where his exquisite instru- 
ment over-rode the storm of the orchestra. This 
principle obtains in the superior audibility of 
trained voices, which is always accompanied with 
an improved ease of delivery. The main ingre- 
dient of clear and resonant tone is a discharge of 
all huskiness or aspiration from it — except, of 
course, where these are expressly ca]led for as an 
element of expression. The smaller the measure 



354 THE VOICE IN PCIBLIC SPEAKING. 

of breath put forth, the clearer and purer the 
tone, in general, produced. Because the more 
completely is the column of air put into vibra- 
cion, the less, too, the fatigue, necessarily. With 
practice, the power to vibrate fully a larger ex- 
piration, is found to increase. 

The ability to make one's voice travel far 
depends upon ringing it against the roof of the 
mouth — forcing, as it were, the breath to strike 
against the centre of the archway which the 
roof forms. I have also remarked that speakers, 
when addressing audiences in the open air, 
have, not unfrequently, a tendency to curve 
the lips outward, trumpet-fashion, which, of 
course, ^projects the sound. These experiments 
may be made on all the vowels. 

We will close with an extract from an old 
work, on the power of music, which may interest 
the reader: " In the year 1714, in an opera that 
was performed at Ancona, there was in the be- 
ginning of the third act, a passage of recitative, 
unaccompanied by any other instrument but the 
bass, which raised, both in the professors and in 
the rest of the audience, such and so great a 
commotion of mind, that we could not help star- 
ing at one another on account of tlie visible 






THE VOICE IN PUBLIC SPEAKING. 355 

change of color that was caused in every one's 
countenance. The effect was not of the plamtive 
kind. I remember well that the words expressed 
indignation ; but of so harsh and chilling a nature 
that the mind was disordered by it. Thirteen 
times this drama was performed, and the same 
effect always followed, and that, too, universally ; 
of which the remarkable previous silence of the 
audience to prepare themselves for the enjoyment 
of the effect was an imdoubted sign." — Stilling- 
fleet. 



CHAPTER xxym. 

EULES OF ORDER AXD DEBATE. 

Theee is SO mucli business transacted in public 
meetings, on Boards, in Committees, etc., and on 
such occasions public speaking of one sort or 
another, is so constant a part of the procedures, 
that it seems very appropriate to the purpose of 
this work to throw together some principles and 
rules in regard to those matters. Few persons 
in this country will find it a superfluous attain- 
ment to know thoroughly, at least so much as 
they will find here — were it only with a view to 
imderstand fully the reports of legislative and 
other matters which appear from time to time in 
the journals. As to the conduct of Debating 
Societies, the principles which follow are so easily 
applicable to them, that we need not encumber 
the statements by any special directions for them. 

The order of business and the rules of the 
English Parliament, grown from a remote period 

856 



ETTLES OF ORDER AND DEBATE. 357 

into a system, and comprised in many volumes, 
have descended to Congress and our State Legis- 
latures, and finally regulate, under a modified 
form, tlie deliberations of popular assemblies. 

Unless there is some special rule, the majority 
of votes decides the question. 

In organizing a meeting, usually some member 
proposes the name of another for president, and 
puts it to the vote by saying, " all in favor of, 
etc., — ^will signify the same by saying, ayeP 
After a short pause, " The contrary, no?'' Then 
" Carried" — ^if such was the case — or "The ayes 
have it." 

The president takes the chair, or, on formal 
occasions, is conducted to it, and opens the busi- 
ness by a brief stateraent of the objects of the 
meeting. K there are to be vice-presidents and 
secretaries, they are usually nominated and 
selected in the same manner. 

The duty of the president is to preserve order, 
put questions, (in the manner above,) appoint 
committees, sign resolutions, call for papers and 
reports, receive and announce messages, call the 
business up in its order, etc., etc., and declare the 
adjournments. 



358 RULES OP ORDER AND DEBATE 

If on the vote vivd voce, the iDresident is una- 
ble to determine whether the ayes have it, or the 
nays, he may call for a division, or for the former 
to rise, or he may appoint tellers to ascertain by 
counting. In case of a tie, the president is to 
give the casting vote. (This is the only occasion 
on which he votes.) Where it is requisite to re- 
cord the vote, the secretary calls the names one 
by one, and scores down each member's vote. 
This is called taking the ayes and nays on the 
question. 

In an assembly a member rising to speak calls 
" Mr. President, or Chairman, or Speaker " — the 
latter recognizes the one who is the first to claim 
his attention, by naming him, bowing or nod- 
ding to him, with " The gentleman from ,'' 

etc., or " Mr. has the floor," or, in other 

cases, the presiding officer introduces the Speaker 
to the audience. 

It is quite usual to appoint a committee to re- 
tire and draft resolutions, expressive of the sense 
of the meeting. He who proposes the commit- 
tee is ordinarily selected for its chairman. Wlien 
the committee returns, it reports through its 
chairman to the president, who directs the aecr©* 



BULES OF OEDER ANI* DEBATE. 359 

tary to read the resolutions to the meeting, which 
are then j)ut to the vote by the president. Or 
the latter may read them, and put them to the 
vote, separately. 

A motion must be made by one member, and 
seconded by another ; it is then stated by the 
president, or " being in writing, it shall be handed 
to the Chair and read aloud by the secretary, 
before debated." — Rule. So. Heps. April 7, 
1789. 

"When a question is under debate, no motion 
shall be received but to adjourn, to lay on the 
table, for the previous question, to postpone to a 
certain day, to commit,* or amend, to postpone 
indefinitely."— JTo. 1822. 

"A motion to adjourn, and to fix the day of 
adjournment, is always in order. These two, and 
the motion to lay on the table, shall be decided 
without debate." — So. Reps. 1822. But these 
motions cannot be made while a member is in 
possession of the floor, unless he chooses to give 
way for them. ( Jefierson's Manual.) 

In every deliberative body the first necessity 

♦ " To commit"— to refer the matter to a committee. 



360 RULES OF ORDER AXD DEBATE 

is the iDreservation of order : the next is the order 
of the business before it. But as both these de- 
pend upon the question whether the meeting will 
continue to be held, or not, the motion to adjourn 
has the precedence of all others. Next to the 
motion to adjourn are questions of privilege and 
questions of order as these relate intimately to 
the organization of the body. 

The next, after these, is the order of the busi- 
ness, and here there should be but one chief pro- 
position, or main question, and if its terms are 
not simple, and its purpose single, it may be di- 
vided^ on motion. To this subject the debate 
should be, for the time, directed and confined. 

When a question is before the body, the motion 
to lay it on the table — or as the phrase is, " to ta- 
ble" it, has precedence of all (except the motion 
to adjourn^ as already stated) . It can neither be 
debated, nor amended, and if passed disposes of 
the question, till regularly called up at another 
meeting. 

The motion for the previous question^ cuts 
short all debate by bringing the amendments and 
the question itself at once to a test vote. But 
from its odium as a " gag law," by the present 



ETTLES OF ORDER AJSTD DEBATE. 361 

rules of the House of Representatives, the pre- 
vious question must be demanded by a majority 
of the members present, or it cannot be enter- 
tained. The motion is neither debatable nor 
amendable. 

The motion to postpone^ if indefinitely, evident- 
ly, disposes finally of the question. It may be 
amended by a motion to specify a day, but not 
otherwise, nor is it debatable. 

Amendments. — These usually relate to the 
parts and details of the main question, but they 
may go so far as to substitute a new one, by mov- 
ing to strike out all after the word " Resolved^.'''' 
And the amendment itself may be treated simi- 
larly, i. e., by another amendment, it may be to- 
tally displaced, and substituted. There may be 
an amendment of an amendment, but the process 
can go no further, as that would be travelling 
too far beyond the subject-matter. Obviously, 
irrelevant matter is not admissible, under the 
form of an amendment. (Rule of Ho. of Reps.) 
An amendment once accepted cannot be altered, 
nor one once rejected cannot be agaia proposed. 
But the object may be reached by embodying 
the proposed alteration in a motion substantially 



362 RULES OF ORDER AN^D DEBATE. 

different, as containing more substance — making 
it a ])art, e, g. of a more extensive claase. And 
this is the only way. " A motion to strike out 
the enacting words, of a Bill shall have prece- 
dence of a motion to amend ; and if carried, shall 
be considered equivalent to its rejection." — 
House of Reps. ^ March 13, 1822. 

Motions for the Reading of papers^ may be 
made when the papers are either necessary to the 
giving of a vote, or pertinent to the question, 
but where the reading would create delay, etc., 
it will not prevail. If the report of a committee 
is ordered to be printed, it is not usual to call for 
its reading. 

A motion may be withdrawn by its mover, un- 
less objected to, before amendment, but not after, 
and when stated from the chair it is regarded as 
the property of the whole body. — Ho. Reps.^ 
1789. 

"Amotion to suspend ihQ standing rules cannot 
usually be carried by less than a vote of two- 
thirds. 

Motion to reconsider (a vote) takes precedence 
of all but the motion to adjourn. It can be 
moved only by one who voted /or the resolution. 



RTTLES OF ORDER AND DEBATE. 363 

Accordingly, members sometimes vote in the 
affirmative in order to entitle themselves to move 
a reconsideration. And upon a motioi to recon- 
sider, a motion to lay it upon the t:ible may be 
made. That is, a member may uLuve to " table" 
a motion to reconsider, which, if carried, disposes 
of the question, for that time. 

In Congress bills must be introduced either 
upon the report of a committee, or else by 
motion for leave. Every bill must have three 
several '-readings" on different days. Upon the 
second reading, the bill is ready for commitment, 
or engrossment, before passing to its final read- 
ing. And after commitment and report of a bill 
to the House, at any time before its passage, it 
may be recommitted, i. e., sent again to a com- 
mittee. 

COMMITTEES 

Are — select^ standing^ and of the whole. Spe- 
cial Committees are for an express purpose and 
are discharged upon the acceptance of their Re- 
port. Standiug Committees are for permanent 
branches of business, and have, usually, more 
members than the former. In the House of 
Representatives some of the Standing Gommit- 



364 RULES OF ORDER AND DEBATK. 

tees are, *' Ways and Means," " On the Judiciary," 
" Ou Foreign Affairs," " On Territories." 

Committee of the Whole is formed by motion 
of some member, seconded and put to the vote, 
which, when carried, is followed by the presi- 
dent's naming some member to take his own 
place. When the Committee rises, the president 
resumes his place, and the Chairman of the Com- 
mittee reports to him, the progress of said Com- 
mittee. If, during the sitting of the Committee 
a quorum of the whole body be not present, the 
Committee must " rise" at once. The proceedings 
of the Committee of the Whole ar^not matters 
for record. There are other differences between 
the Committee and the whole assembly. For ex- 
ample, the Committee of the Whole cannot ad- 
journ — it can only rise. Hence that privileged 
question does not then subsist. Besides this, in 
Committee of the Whole, the previous question 
cannot be called, nor the ayes and 7iays demand- 
ed — ^nor can anything be referred to a Commit- 
tee, nor can an infraction of the rules of order 
be punished — ^it must be reported to the House. 
Finally, there is no limitation upon the times a 
member may speak, and no appeal from the 
Oil tirm fin's decision. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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